


Out of Time

by RemindMeWhoIAm



Series: Lawyer, General, Vigilante [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Game Spoilers, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:46:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 73
Words: 122,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemindMeWhoIAm/pseuds/RemindMeWhoIAm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So I’m seeing things now.  Fantastic.”</p><p>“That’s what you get when you do as many drugs as you have lately,” Nate replied, eyebrow raised at her. “Unhealthy coping mechanisms, huh, sweetheart?”</p><p>Nora bristled. “You’re one to talk,” she snapped, “In case you hadn’t noticed, the world ended.  You were murdered, our son was kidnapped, I’ve been shot at by psychopaths and mauled by a monster.  I haven’t had a proper shower in ages and I ate fungus for dinner.  I think I’m entitled to a few vices now and then.”</p><p> __________________________________________________</p><p>Nora's world has been ripped apart and she's living on borrowed time every day, but she won't let that stop her from avenging her husband's death, rescuing her son, and rebuilding her life - with the help of the Minutemen and a shotgun, of course.</p><p>COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sanctuary Hills

     Nora fell unceremoniously from the pod, coughing and retching.  Her lungs were on fire, her skin prickling as frost melted off the vault suit.  It felt as though someone had shoved a fistful of snow down her throat.

     _Nate._

     She pulled herself up on the pod’s clear door, knees wobbling as coughs wracked her.  Her muscles were stiff and cold and nothing wanted to work right as she tried to connect her racing thoughts to her unresponsive body.  It had only been minutes since the pod closed for the first time.  Moments since she was jerked back to reality long enough to see Nate murdered as they stole her son.  Moments.  Hadn’t it?

     “Nate,” she croaked, slamming a fist on the big red button next to his pod.  Her throat was dry and hoarse, the words scraping out like pebbles on concrete.

     The door opened with a hiss of freezing air.  Nate was exactly as he had been left, slumped in the seat with a dark bullet hole in his forehead.  What the hell had happened?  Why?

     “I’ll find out who did this.  I’ll find Shaun.  I promise.”

     She twisted the simple gold band off his finger, pressing it deep into the chest pocket of the suit they had given her.  It was ice cold.  They were just supposed to be going through decontamination.  That’s what the man had said, hadn’t he?  It made sense – who knew how much radioactive backwash they’d been exposed to in the few quick seconds between the blast and the vault doors closing?  Why had they been frozen? 

     Nora pressed the button to close Nate’s pod and turned away, resolute.  A cough worked its way back up but the icy burn in her chest had begun to subside.  The fog in her brain was starting to clear.  It didn’t matter what had happened.  She had to get out of there and figure out who had taken her son.

 

     She picked up the Pip-Boy gingerly and brushed off the cobwebs, wincing as the skeleton it had belonged to clattered back to the floor.  How long did it take a body to decompose to that point, especially in a sealed system?  Why was everyone dead?  Had the people who took Shaun killed everyone else, too?

     Nora had seen Pip-Boys before but never used one herself.  It was surprisingly light as she buckled it onto her wrist and it sparked to life almost instantly after she punched the button.  She plugged it into the blast door control panel, called the elevator, and sprinted onto it, the gates clanging shut behind her with a sobering finality.

 

     She shielded her eyes against the glaring sun, staring ahead in astonishment.  The neighborhood still stood, but it had been destroyed.  The trees were stripped bare of all greenery, towering over the ruined houses like gray skeletons.  The lush lawns had been replaced with brown scrub, the painted fences were peeling and rotting away.  The avenue concrete had been torn apart in places, weeds growing in the cracks.  She walked forward hazily, tripping over a broken and rusted tricycle.

     “As I live and breathe…”

     Nora stopped short. “ _Codsworth?_ ”

     The Mr. Handy whizzed forward, mechanical arms waving excitedly. “It’s you!  It’s REALLY you!”

     “What…what happened?”

     Nora looked out over the ruined neighborhood, mind racing as she tried to process it all.  It felt like she had run out the front door with Shaun and Nate just fifteen minutes before, but the decay, the destruction, and the rust on Codsworth’s previously gleaming steel body seemed to suggest that it had been much longer.

     “Well, our geraniums are still the envy of Sanctuary Hills!” Codsworth announced proudly, “Though, otherwise, it has been dreadfully dull…”

     Nora noticed the depressed lull in Codsworth’s voice. “Are you alright?  What’s going on?”

     Nora wasn’t prepared for Codsworth’s response.  She could swear he’d have bawled into her shoulder had he been able – then came the real news.

     “200 years with no one to talk to, no one to serve!  I spent the first ten years trying to keep the floors waxed…”

     She stood there for a moment as Codsworth babbled something about polishing rust, a deep ringing in her ears.  200 years?  She had been frozen for two centuries?

     “Miss Nora?”

     Nora half-fell onto the ruined cement block that had once been her front stoop.  It felt as though someone had kicked her in the stomach.  Her breath came in hitching gasps and she clutched at her middle, thoughts racing and panic rising from somewhere deep and dark. 

     “Miss Nora, you’re looking rather pale.  Have you eaten?  Is…is Sir with you?”

     “200 years?”

     “Well, a bit over, I believe.  Few dings to the old chronometer, earth’s rotation, and what-have-you.”

     Nora buried her head in her hands, willing away the panic and the pain.  She couldn’t afford to lose it, no matter how much she wanted to.

     “They killed him, Codsworth.  They killed him and they took Shaun.”

     There was a stunned silence. “Are…are you sure, ma’am?  Perhaps Sir just took the lad --”

     “I saw them, Codsworth.  They were in the Vault.  They shot Nate and they took Shaun.”

     Silence hung between them until at last, Nora stood and made her way to the backyard.  Ignoring the ruins of her happy home, the dirt and grime and 200 years of slow destruction, she made a beeline for the cellar.

     “Miss Nora?  What are you doing?”

     “I’ve got to find help,” she replied, yanking half-dead vines off the iron doors Nate had installed, hoping against hope that their secret hadn’t been discovered.  She yanked at one rusty handle and her heart fell as it groaned open.

     “The scavengers have been near impossible to keep away, I’m afraid.”

     Nora clambered down the steps into the cellar, fiddling with the flashlight on her Pip-Boy.  Nate had returned from his final enlistment quieter and more paranoid than before, insisting that they needed a contingency plan for the day the world collapsed around them.  Ever the idealist – or naïve idiot, as she now chided herself – Nora had humored him, giving in to his wishes that they turn the unfinished cellar into a makeshift fallout shelter.  Even after purchasing their place in the vault, he’d maintained it, rotating the supplies of purified water and canned goods periodically, stashing small arms and ammunition.  It scared her to think of a life spent in the dark, dirty hole, so she left him to his devices, walking Shaun out to the park or lounging in the living room with a book until he was finished.  The work seemed to clear his head, or so he told her, and he usually emerged dirty and sweaty but his old self – sweet and placid as an old lake, ready to engage in the simple, apple pie life they’d slowly built for themselves.

     “I hope they at least put the stuff to good use,” Nora said, more to herself than Codsworth as she rummaged through the mess scavengers had made.  All that was left was a crumpled box of Fancy Lad’s Snack Cakes, the little bagged confections that had been her guilty pleasure since the days of law school all-nighters, and a half-empty box of 10mm ammo.  She took both, stuffing them into a discarded knapsack.

     “Are you going somewhere, Miss Nora?”  Codsworth asked, eyestalks wavering uncertainly.

     “Is there anyone in Concord?  I need to find some help.”

     “There may be yet,” Codsworth replied, “The last time I went for a look-see, the locals only shot at me a few times.”

     “I like these people already.”

     “Wonderful!  You may find a few friends, then,” Codsworth responded, oblivious to her snark. “Would you like me to accompany you, ma’am?”

     Nora shook her head. “Stay here.  I’ll be back before sunrise.”

     “Are you certain, ma’am?  Things have changed…”

     _No shit._

     Nora nodded and squared her shoulders.  “If something dangerous comes through, wait for me at the end of the footbridge.  I promise I’ll be back.”

     At least she was still able to project confidence she didn’t have, a courtroom skill that had come in handy many times before.  A thousand thoughts and fears jostled through her, demanding attention, but she tamped them down and reminded herself that her son was out there.  Her baby.  She could survive the post-apocalyptic wasteland, but what chance did an infant have?

     Nora slung the knapsack onto her back and steeled herself for what might lie beyond the boundaries of Sanctuary as she jogged across the footbridge.


	2. Bullets, Killer Insects, and Exploding Cars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora's not-so-fun introduction to an average day in the Commonwealth.

_Shit shit shit shit shit –_

Nora raced down the street, the dog at her heels, thrown forward as the abandoned car’s fusion engine exploded in a wave of flames.  She threw her hands over her head, face-down on the pavement as debris skittered around her.  The Vault suit had held up remarkably well against tears and the friction of her slide across the concrete, but it was no match for the sparks.  She rolled and slapped at the flames on her leg, swearing and hoping no one shot her before she had a chance to avoid burning to death.

     In the mile or two she’d ventured from Sanctuary, things had gone from bad to worse without ceasing.  First there had been the mosquitoes, monstrous devils now genuinely big enough to carry off a small child, then the radioactive waste she’d stumbled through, and now this.  Some sort of fire fight in downtown Concord between a group of armored thugs and a lone gunman on the balcony of the Museum of Freedom.  At least the dog could hold his own, it seemed – she didn’t need to feel guilty about puppy death while simultaneously avoiding bullets, killer insects, and exploding cars.

     “Get some, motherfucker!”

     Nora barely had time to register the man looming over her with a baseball bat before she heard a metallic twang and he _disintegrated._   She stared in horror and astonishment.

     “Hey, up here!  On the balcony!”

     The man on the balcony was yelling down at her.  The rest of the armored thugs in the street had disappeared, but she had the feeling they were simply regrouping and would be back very soon.

     “I’ve got a group of settlers inside,” the man continued, “The Raiders are almost through the door.  Grab that Laser Musket and help us.  Please!”

     _Laser musket?_

     The dog ran past her to the front steps of the museum and she saw the firearm the man had been talking about.  The dog barked impatiently at her as if to say, _Hurry up, stupid._

     She struggled to her feet, racing awkwardly over to the musket and snatching it up.  She and the dog rushed inside the museum and slammed the doors behind them, narrowly avoiding a bullet that slammed into the ancient wood wall behind her.  The dog loped away to a side door and Nora followed, panting and praying he knew where he was going. 

     Like Sanctuary Hills and the Red Rocket and what little she had seen of Concord before walking into a shoot-out, the Museum had not held up well over time.  Most of the second floor had collapsed inward and the many paintings, flags, and displays on the wall were either gone or in shreds.  Somehow, though, the cheerful fife music and melodramatic sound effects were still playing, punctuated by the _pop pop pop_ of gunfire and that metallic twang that came seconds before the Raider outside had dissolved into a pile of ash before her.

     Dog led her upstairs along a back stairwell and through a hole in one wall, avoiding most of the Raiders.  They seemed to be trying to shoot their way towards the front of the museum, to a single door that opened every few moments to shoot red beams before slamming closed again.

     _Hundred bucks that’s the door I need to get to…_

     Her musings were interrupted by the deafening whistle of a bullet that sailed past her left ear.  Nora lifted the Laser Musket and fumbled to find the trigger, but Dog got to the Raider first.  The pair went down in a tumble of leather and fur, the Raider’s screams and curses intermixed with throaty growls.  Nora rushed forward as the Raider threw Dog off, bringing the butt of the Laser Musket across the side of his head.  Metal connected with bone in a sickening crunch and blood spattered onto her blue Vault suit.  Dog whimpered as he struggled to sit up, favoring one front leg.

     Without thinking, Nora dropped the musket and scooped up the scrawny mutt, tamping down the rising panic in her stomach.  She waited, breath held, until the gunfire stopped, then whipped around the corner and sprinted to the door.  Still clutching Dog, she nearly fell into the room beyond, a pair of calloused hands reaching out to steady her.

     “Man, I don’t know who you are, but your timing is impeccable.  Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”


	3. In the Clutches of Death

     _Something’s coming…and it is…angry…_

     Nora watched helplessly as the thing stood over her, its hot breath on her face.  It held her down with one enormous back foot, the pressure suffocating as her Power Armor groaned and bent under its weight.  Getting rid of the Raiders had been the easy part, but just as she was about to hop out of the suit and celebrate, the thing – this fifteen-foot-tall, scaled, demon-faced _dragon_ – had crawled out of the sewer, all claws and angry roars, and come straight for her.  The mini-gun still had two clips of ammo, but it didn’t matter because the dragon had knocked it from her grip as it swung with enormous clawed hands.

     Nora almost laughed.  _So this is how I’m going to die.  Bitch-slapped into the concrete by a dragon…_

     The metallic twang of Preston’s musket fired off and the dragon stumbled.  The pressure on Nora’s chest suddenly lifted and she gasped as oxygen flooded back into her lungs.  Maybe she wasn’t going to die.  Maybe she still had a chance…

     The Power Armor was beginning to falter.  The Fusion Core she’d placed in it was only half-full and the gauge inside her helmet was orange and beeping at her.  Every muscle in her body screaming in pain, Nora forced herself to roll over.  Preston had managed to distract the damned lizard long enough for her to stand.  The mini-gun was less than 100 feet away. 

     Side-stepping a swipe from the creature’s claws, Nora sprinted and snatched it up.  The Power Armor, despite being over two centuries old and running on a dwindling battery, moved with her with unexpected ease.  Nate had told her about the Power Armor they used in Anchorage and she’d seen the occasional soldier patrolling in it at the checkpoints before the war, but it had always seemed too bulky, too mechanical to be of any help besides as a glorified Kevlar vest.  The numerous gauges and dials along the edge of her helmet were a bit distracting, but overall it wasn’t terrible.

     “Hurry, Nora!”

     Nora fumbled for the trigger and pulled.  The gun revved to life, spraying bullets at the dragon with frightening speed.  The gun shook with the force and almost slipped from her hands, but she managed to hold on just long enough to empty the last two clips.

     But it was still standing.

     The mini-gun had done plenty of damage; Nora could see the bullet holes in the creature’s thick plate and the splashes of blood on the street.  Whether they had weakened it or just pissed it off remained to be seen.

     Preston yelled at her again from the balcony, firing his musket almost erratically as the creature came for her.  Nora dropped the mini-gun and dodged another swipe, tripping as she made a grab for one of the little pistols a Raider had dropped.  The dragon roared and stomped, shaking the ground hard enough to knock her down again. 

     _I can’t die here, not now.  I have to find Shaun…_

     Nora raised the pistol and aimed for the creature’s face, firing three shots before the empty chamber clicked.  The dragon stopped short and clutched at its head, swaying dangerously.  With a last shuddering roar, it dropped to its knees and then face-first into the pavement.  Nora gaped, her breath ragged as the pain in her chest grew.  Something was broken, but the creature was dead.

     She dropped the pistol and tried to stand before stars began dancing in her eyes and everything went black.

 

     When she woke, she was lying on a rumpled sleeping bag inside the ruins of what she recognized was her neighbor’s living room.  She stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember how she’d gotten there.  Vague memories of Preston’s face and Sturges’s low voice surfaced, but everything else was blurry and fragmented. 

     “Codsworth?” 

     Nora struggled to sit up, sending a jolt of pain through her chest.  She glanced down and groaned.  Someone had stripped off her Vault suit before placing her in the sleeping bag and most of her front and left side was covered in one giant, angry blue bruise.

     “Codsworth?” she called again, forcing herself up.  A pair of dirty jeans and an old flannel shirt had been left next to the sleeping bag, along with a dusty glass of water.  She stared at it dubiously for a moment, then decided that her throat was too dry to worry about a few particles of dirt and radiation.

     “Nora?  You awake?”  Preston glanced around the doorway corner and then jumped back, clearing his throat.

     “Sorry, I didn’t mean to – I mean, I -- ”

     Nora grabbed the flannel shirt and slipped it on gingerly.  “It’s alright, Preston.  What happened?”

     “You took down a Deathclaw single-handedly,” he replied, eyes turned as she struggled into the jeans. “Sturges and I got you out of the Power Armor but you were pretty beat up.  Marcy and Codsworth took care of you once we got everyone back here.  We didn’t have any Stimpaks, I’m afraid, but Sturges found some Med-X on one of those Raiders in Concord.”

     “A Deathclaw?”

     “Yeah,” Preston nodded, holding out a hand to help her up.  She took her gratefully and staggered to her feet. “No mean feat even for a Commonwealth native.”

     “It was that or get splattered.”

     Preston gave a small laugh. “I guess so,” he said, “You know, Nora, I can’t thank you enough for helping us.  I thought for sure we weren’t going to make it out of there before you showed up.”

     “Don’t mention it,” Nora stretched her arms and winced.  Whatever they had given her had worn off long ago and her ribs throbbed.

     “Marcy reckons you broke a couple,” Preston supplied helpfully, “Nothing life-threatening, but you’ll need a little while to rest and recuperate.  You’re always welcome with us.”

     “I appreciate the offer, but I have to keep going.  Is there anyone in Concord, or maybe Lexington?”

     “Nothing but Ghouls, Raiders, and bugs until you get to Diamond City, and I can tell you right now you’re not going to make it that far as banged-up as you are now.”

     “Diamond City?”

     “The great, green jewel of the Commonwealth,” Preston replied, “You really aren’t from around here, are you?  I thought for sure even the Vault-Dwellers had heard of Diamond City.”

     Nora shook her head, easing her way out of the ruined house and onto the carport.  Seeing her neighborhood – her peaceful, green, quiet neighborhood – in shambles, a dilapidated ghost of itself, made her hurt worse than her broken ribs.

     “It’s not bad,” Preston said, looking around with a half-smile. “Mama Murphy’s had a vision of this place for months, even before we left Quincy.  I think it’d make a great place for a new settlement.

     “It’s…strange,” Nora said, half to herself. “It used to be…”

     “Did you used to live here?”

     “Yeah, back before the war.”

     Preston frowned. “The war?  What war?  Do you mean…?”

     Nora met his widened eyes and nodded. “Yeah.  The Vault I was in was a cryogenics facility.  I just…thawed…sometime yesterday.  Right before I came to Concord.”

     “Damn.  Like one of those old pre-war Ghouls.  Did anyone else make it out with you?”

     “No,” Nora said, trying to force away the memories rising before her eyes. “Just me and my baby.  Someone took him and I have to find him.”

     There was silence for a moment. 

     “That’s…hard,” Preston said, “I can’t imagine.”

     Nora straightened and looked away. “So how do I get to Diamond City?  Do you think someone there can help me?”

  
     “Probably,” Preston said, “But if you go running for the city now, you’ll just end up dead in an hour.  Lexington is crawling with ferals and…something else.”

     _What could be worse than a prehistoric lizard tap-dancing on my chest?_

“I appreciate your concern, Preston, but I can’t wait…”

     “Look, you helped us out, now let us help you,” Preston said, “I think we’ll be safe here and Sturges is already looking to make some of these old houses livable again.  Give it long enough for those ribs to heal and I’ll teach you a few survival skills in the meantime.”

     “My son…”

     “You can’t find him if you get torn apart by the Commonwealth.  Besides, Dogmeat needs some time to heal, too.”

     Nora sighed heavily.  He was right.  Just standing there was wearing her out.  She had no food, no water, and very little ammo left.  She’d almost been killed by a man-eating lizard in front of the coffee shop she and Nate had spent many Saturday mornings lounging in and Diamond City was an untold distance away, the route clogged with zombies and murder gangs and God only knew what else.

     _Slow down.  The right opportunity will present itself._

Her boss – had he made it through the bombs? – always used to chide her on being headstrong.  Rushing into things.  She needed to wait for the right moment, then she’d get her son back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is where things will diverge a little from canon, mostly for clarity's sake since the structure and storyline of the game is all over the place. Head-canons with Nick Valentine and Nora coming soon!


	4. The Great, Green Jewel

     “You couldn’t lend me a hand?”

     Nora glared at Dogmeat as she shoved the old desk against the door, barring them into the cabin for the night.  He tilted his head at her questioningly and she sighed.

     _I’m talking to a dog.  This world is making me crazy._

     Once the desk was firmly wedged in place, Nora slid down to the floor and leaned her head back, eyes closed.  After three weeks in Sanctuary Hills, she could wait no longer.  Despite his misgivings, Preston had wished her well, walking her as far as the Red Rocket.  While she healed from the Deathclaw attack, he’d taught her as much as he could.  They spent most afternoons shooting at old cans lined up along the road while he corrected her posture and grip, then showed her the proper way to clean a firearm and avoid shooting herself in the foot.  Before leaving, she’d scavenged up a hundred rounds for the 10mm she’d taken from the Vault and hoped desperately it would be enough to get her to Diamond City intact.

     Preston had told her it would probably take a day and a half to walk there, barring getting lost or encountering more Raider gangs, but at the rate she was going, it would take at least twice that.  He had pointed out a safe route using the map on her Pip-Boy, as outdated as the information was, but she had barely been walking for thirty minutes when a pack of feral ghouls forced her off-track to the west.  After that, it had begun raining, slowing her brisk walk to a miserable slog.  Finally, as the sun began to set and the rain turned cold, Nora had given up on getting much farther.  The cabin was little more than a single room with a cobwebbed fireplace and a pair of dirty mattresses, but it was water-tight and the windows had been boarded over.  It was probably the safest place she’d find.

     Dogmeat claimed a mattress, the one closest to the fireplace, and Nora started a small fire with the few scavenged branches that were dry enough to catch.  A fire was a risk, she knew, especially if she wanted to sleep and not stay awake keeping watch, but her wet suit and boots had already begun to chafe and the last thing she needed was jungle rot on the hike to Diamond City.

     “Don’t stare at me,” Nora said to Dogmeat, turning her back to the fire.  She was stark naked, her suit and underwear draped over a chair to dry, little pools of water collecting as the fabric dripped steadily.

     Dogmeat laid his head on his paws and let out a loud sigh.  Nora leaned over and stroked his head.  He was softer than she expected a homeless wasteland mutt to be and the steady motion of her hand against his fur was strangely comforting.  The hole in her chest was still there, the aching need to curl her baby to her chest and let them both be wrapped in Nate’s embrace, but Dogmeat’s quiet presence kept her thoughts from spiraling into panic.

     The fire had begun to sputter and die down when Nora grabbed her bedroll -- an ancient, moth-eaten quilt – and curled under it.  Dogmeat snored lightly and rain continued to pitter against the cabin’s tin roof. 

     “I’m coming, Shaun,” she whispered to herself, “Mommy will find you.”

 

     It took longer than Nora would have ever admitted to Nate to figure out that by “Diamond City” everyone meant the bombed-out ruins of Fenway Park.  Three blocks from the city, a pack of wild dogs snapping at her heels, she started seeing the signs and the area’s familiarity suddenly made sense.  How many games had they gone to before Nate enlisted?  Nora had never been as big a fan of baseball, but her husband’s enthusiasm had been downright infectious and she could never say no to stuffing herself with greasy hotdogs and cotton candy.  When the doctor had revealed their unborn child would be a boy, Nate had gone out and purchased a brand-new glove, ball, and bat the next day.  Arriving at the stadium entrance out of breath and with radroach guts stuck to her boots was so surreal she could’ve laughed.

     She might have, too, if not for the fact that the giant hydraulic doors were firmly closed and there was another woman waiting, shouting about needing to be let in.

     “What do you mean you can’t open the gate?  Stop playing around, Danny.  I’m standing out here in the open, for crying out loud!”

     Nora approached cautiously, assessing the agitated woman before she said anything.  She was young – Nora would have assumed she was a university student before the war – and dressed in a threadbare red coat and boots with a newsboy cap tucked firmly over long, onyx hair.  A small 10mm like her own was holstered at the woman’s left hip.

     “I live here, Danny!  You can’t just lock me out!”

     The woman sighed angrily and then noticed Nora standing there. “Hey, you.  You want into Diamond City, right?”

     “Yes,” Nora replied cautiously.  Who was this woman and why had they locked her out of the city?

     “What’s that?  You’re a trader up from Quincy?”

     “Um…”

     “Shh, just play along,” she admonished before raising her voice louder, “You have enough supplies to keep the general store stocked for a whole month?”

     _Is he really going to buy that?_

     “Alright, alright, Piper, I get it.  Hang on a sec.”

     Apparently he had.  The hydraulics groaned and the massive door lifted, rusty hinges screeching unpleasantly.

     “You devious, rabble-rousing slanderer!  Danny, I told you not to let her back in!”

     The man descending the steps to meet Piper was red-faced and shaking a finger, his gray suit rumpled and hat askew.  His mustache quivered with anger as he engaged Piper in open threats.

     “Is that a statement, McDonough?  ‘Tyrant Mayor Shuts Down The Press!’”

     Oh, goody.  So politicians and reporters had survived the apocalypse.  Just like the cockroaches. 

     Nora let out an inward sigh and tried to scoot around Piper and McDonough, holstering her handgun now that she felt relatively safe.

     “Let’s ask the newcomer, huh?”

     _No, let’s not ask the newcomer…_

“Do you support freedom of the press?”                                              

     Nora stopped and tried to smile pleasantly. “Of course,” she replied, “Always have.”

     In truth, both politicians and reporters had often been the bane of her existence, making her work at the district court twice as difficult.  Politicians demanded discretion and strict maneuvering around the people she wanted to slap and the reporters tended to demand the exact information she couldn’t give.

     “Now, I didn’t mean to draw you into our little dispute, ma’am,” McDonough replied hastily, “You look like good, respectable Diamond City material.  What brings you to our fair town?”

     He smiled a shark smile, too many teeth and not enough sincerity, for Nora’s comfort.  She knew his type, the kind of man who liked you so far as you were useful to whatever hidden motives he had, the kind she had learned the hard way not to trust.

     “I’m looking for a missing person,” she replied steadily, unsure how much information to give out to these virtual strangers. “Is there someone here who can help me?”

     “Well, I’m afraid Diamond City security can’t follow up on every case we hear of, but I’m sure one of our fine citizens can assist.  We’ve got every conceivable service right here -- ”

     “Who?”

     “You want to really tell us why Diamond City Security never follows up on these missing persons cases?”  Piper interjected, folding her arms defiantly.

     McDonough ignored her. “Well, there is Nick Valentine.  He has assisted some of our citizens with finding people, mostly for debts, however -- ”

     “Nick Valentine?” Nora repeated, stunned.

     “You’re sitting on a house of cards, McDonough,” Piper threatened, “I’m going to find out what you’re hiding.”

     “Then consider yourself and that sister of yours officially on notice,” McDonough spat, “Have a good day, ma’am.”

     He tipped his hat to Nora and strode away.

     “Keep talking,” Piper called back, shaking her head in disgust. “That’s all you’re good for!”

     “Nick Valentine,” Nora repeated, trying to wrap her head around the idea.  Had to be a coincidence.  A really, really ironic coincidence.

     “His place is just around behind crazy ol’ Myrna’s,” Piper said, leading the way up the stairs and into the so-called green jewel. “Big pink signs, can’t miss it.”

     Nora nodded. “Thanks for helping me get in,” she said, holding a hand out to Piper.

     “Not a problem,” Piper replied, returning the handshake briefly. “Stop by my office sometime soon, will ya’?”

     With that, she turned and hurried down the stairs into the stadium.  Nora took a moment to revel in the sheer ingenuity of turning Fenway Park into a settlement, albeit one of rusty shacks that smelled faintly of sewage, before adjusting her pack and setting off.


	5. The Synth Detective

     _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

Nora dove behind the shelving unit as bullets slammed into the boxes.  The noise was deafening and the pain where a bullet had grazed her earlier burned through her arm.  Dogmeat crawled to her side, hunched over as the machine guns continue to spray bullets haphazardly.  He was a damn smart mutt if anything.

     “Got a nice pair of cement shoes for you!”

     A telephone on the desk in front of her exploded, sending shards of sharp plastic flying.  One caught Dogmeat in the face, ripping open his muzzle.  The sight of blood pouring down into his dark fur made Nora angry in a way she hadn’t been once yet in this new Commonwealth.  Seething, her hands steady for the first time, she unclipped the frag grenade from her belt.  She’d bought three off a suave trader named Arturo before leaving Diamond City, although it had cost her every last cap and round of extra ammo she’d managed to scrape together.  Ripping the pin out, she tossed it behind her and hoped it made its mark.

     The explosion left behind a blackened hole in the floor and three bodies, each missing at least one limb.  Nora used a bandana to wipe the blood of Dogmeat’s face, holding him still against her as he whimpered, then administered one of her Stimpaks.  He growled momentarily as she jabbed the needle into the laceration, then relaxed as the painkiller took hold.  Super-fast healing, non-addictive, expensive as hell – at least the wasteland had produced one decent thing so far. 

     The last two grenades took out another five of Skinny Malone’s cronies and Nora herself managed to shoot three, pocketing their ammo and a machine gun for herself.  She hurried through the corridors of the abandoned vault, concentrating on being stealthy and finding Nick Valentine.  If she stopped to think much about what she was doing, the blood on her hands – righteous or not – would horrify her.

     Nora hadn’t had the guts or the time to ask Ellie about Valentine, but being in his office had been a step back into her time.  It still smelled like old cigarettes and the desk was still cluttered with paperwork and coffee cups.  When Ellie had her back turned, Nora flipped open one of the folders to glance at the handwriting.  It was definitely Nick’s.  No coincidence.

     She crept into the vault atrium, gun held at the ready.  Dogmeat followed behind as she inched her way through the shadows over to the stairs.  There was just one last person to take out and she could get Nick – she could hear the lone man up the stairs, taunting him through the locked door.

     “Keep talking, meat-head,” another voice called back, “It’ll give Skinny more time to figure out how to bump you off.”

     Nora pressed her face into her shoulder, stifling a giggle.  _Definitely_ Nick.  Finding him was the happiest she’d been since she’d stepped out of Vault 111.  Hurrying, worrying less about muffling her footsteps as the thug fretted over Skinny bumping him off, Nora ascended the stairs.  Just as the man turned to leave, Nora lined up her sights and squeezed the trigger.  Blood blossomed on his suit jacket and he crumpled, still looking mildly surprised.  There was a moment of silence.

     “Look, I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but it’s only a matter of time before the rest figure out muscles-for-brains ain’t coming back.  He wrote the code down – check his pockets and _get this door open!_ ”

     Nora did as she was instructed, punching the password into the terminal next to the door as happiness and relief and hope bloomed in her chest like the warmth of a stiff drink.  The terminal beeped and the door slid open.  She turned and practically ran over the threshold.

     “Nick, I’m -- ”   

     She stopped short, her jaw falling open.  This wasn’t the Nick Valentine she’d known two centuries ago, or even the ghoulified version she had expected to find.  This was something entirely different, something confusing and somewhat terrifying all at the same time.  It was Nick’s _look_ – the trademark fedora and trench coat, cigarette packet stuffed in the front pocket.  It was Nick’s voice – deep and slightly accented, unwaveringly calm even in the face of a vault full of machine gun-wielding thugs.  But this – this machine that was missing a chunk of casing on the side of its head and on one hand, that met her eyes with glowing yellow ones – this wasn’t Nick Valentine.

     “Got to love the irony of the reverse damsel in distress scenario,” the Nick thing said, lighting a cigarette. “But why did my heroine risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

     The words rolled out of Nora before she could stop them. “You’re a synth.”

     “Synth detective,” he replied, “Good catch.”

     Nora swallowed against a lump in her throat. “Ellie told me where to find you,” she said, “But she didn’t…”

     “Ellie, huh?  I should give her a raise.”

     “Are you Nick Valentine?”

     The Nick thing stared at her for a moment, lifting what might have been an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said, “I thought we’d established that, but if you need a recap…”

     “Never mind,” Nora answered, shaking her head furiously. “I think one of those grenades went off too close to my head.  Let’s get out of here.”

 

     “Thanks for getting me out of there, Nora,” Nick Valentine said, “Now, what did you need my services for?”

     Nora shook herself from the intense flashbacks that kept rising, unbidden, every time she looked at the Synth Nick or even heard his voice.

     “I’m looking for a missing person,” she said, “My son was kidnapped.”

     Synth Nick nodded in that easy, familiar way. “Well, come with me to my office in Diamond City and you can give me all the details.  You’ve earned a chance to sit and clear your head, at any rate.”

     Nora nodded.  The more time she spent in this world, the more she felt like her head might just spin right off her neck.  Minutemen and dragons and the boogeyman Institute, Fenway Park turned into a shantytown, giant cockroaches and radioactive zombies and now _him._   A long-dead friend’s voice coming from some sort of half broken-down synthetic human. 

     “You alright, there?”

     Nora looked up and plastered on as convincing a smile as she could. “Yeah, it’s just been kind of a wild ride these last few days.”

     “Culture shock from the Vault?”

     “Just a bit.”

     “Well, Goodneighbor’s a hell of a lot closer than Diamond City,” Nick replied, “It’s not the great green jewel but the Hotel Rexford has beds and doors that lock.  I should probably make sure Hancock knows the last of Skinny’s guys are running around unsupervised, anyway.”

     “Lead the way,” Nora replied, shrugging.  Nick nodded, tossed the stub of his cigarette, and lead her down the alleys.

     She watched him as they snuck through the dark, chewing the inside of her lip.  Was turning himself into a synth the “weird science experiment” she’d heard rumors about from the others in the department?  Why would Nick do something like that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All your kudos make my day! More chapters to come very soon.


	6. Welcome to Goodneighbor

     “Can’t go walking around without insurance, or accidents start happening.  Big, _bloody_ accidents.”

     Twenty feet in to Goodneighbor and Nora was about ready to turn right back around and leave.  She mentally weighed the cost of getting past this dickhead and decided the possibility of a bed was worth the irritation.  She still had six rounds in her trusty 10mm, after all.

     “Unless it’s keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me insurance, I’m not interested.”

     The guy made a step toward her, leering. “Now don’t be like that, sweetheart…”

     Dogmeat let out a low growl and she felt Nick step an inch closer, but a pending scuffle was interrupted when a gravelly, pack-a-day voice interrupted and its owner swaggered from the shadows.

     “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Finn,” the Ghoul said, “Nick Valentine makes a rare visit to Goodneighbor and you gotta start some shit?  Lay off that extortion crap.  Hey, Nick.”

     “Hancock.” Nick dipped his chin politely, evenly.

     Nora took in the diplomat and tried to keep her expression neutral.  Once again, the apocalypse had not failed in its duty to serve up platters of both dickery and just plain weirdness.  Was that a US flag he was wearing as a belt?  What the _fuck_?

     “Come on, Finn, this is me we’re talking about.  Come here, let me tell you something…”

     He beckoned Finn forward as if he planned to put a friendly hand on his shoulder.  Instead, in one swift motion, he pulled an obnoxiously long combat knife from his flag belt and buried it between Finn’s ribs twice.  Nora barely managed to keep her jaw from dropping open.  It wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed cold-blooded murder – that, ironically, had been before the world went to hell in a handbasket – but the utter lack of reaction from everyone else was what shocked her.  Even Nick didn’t seem fazed.

     Hancock sidled towards her, wiping the blood from his knife with a dirty handkerchief. “You alright there, sister?”

     “You killed him.”

     Her voice sounded more deadpan than shocked even to her own ears.  Hancock’s scarred face split into a bemused grin.

     “You got a good set of eyes on you, there,” he replied, “You’ll fit right in here.  Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people, you feel me?”

    “Oh, god,” Nora could barely contain her exasperation.  Dogmeat yawned loudly at her knee and Hancock’s grin widened.

    “I can tell I’m going to like you,” he said, “Consider my little town your home away from home.  As long as you remember who’s in charge.”

     “It’s not like you’d let us forget,” Nick interjected, “You going to be around the next hour or so, Hancock?  I got news you might be interested in.”

     “Anything for you, Nick,” Hancock replied, “But first you need to introduce me to your lady friend.  Can’t forget my manners.”

     Nora plastered a half-smile on her face. “It’s Nora, and I think we’ll excuse the oversight tonight,” she said, “Come on, boy.”

     With that, she marched away, Dogmeat at her heels.  She didn’t have any clue where she was going, but thankfully, the dark alleyway Hancock had been skulking in lead around a corner directly to plenty of neon lights and the aforementioned Hotel Rexford.

     _Fake it ‘til you make it._

 

     The grumpy front desk clerk eyed Dogmeat suspiciously as Nora rummaged through her bag and managed to come up with the required caps for a room, then waved them both away with a sigh.  The room itself smelled musty and the stains on the bare mattress were questionable, but Nora locked the door and collapsed onto it gratefully.

     “We made it one more day, boy,” she said as Dogmeat clambered up next to her, flopping down heavily. “How’s that cut?”

     She grabbed his jaw gently and inspected the wound, impressed to see that it was already beginning to close up.  He jerked away from her impatiently and nudged at her bag with a whine.

     “Hungry?  Well, let’s see what’s on the menu tonight…oh, look, 200-year-old deviled eggs.  Or, there’s 200-year-old chocolate cakes, bet those still taste great.  I think Preston gave me some molerat, whatever the hell that is --”

     Dogmeat nudged at the paper package of dried meat, tongue lolling as a string of saliva dripped from his chops.  Nora grimaced and tore the chunk of meat roughly in half.  He scarfed down his share while she chewed it thoughtfully, unsure whether she liked it or not.  It was tough and dry, even for jerky, with a vaguely _dirty_ taste. 

     “At least it’s younger than I am,” Nora said, swallowing hard.  Dogmeat licked the paper wrapping as she unbuckled and removed her various bits of armor, then collapsed back onto the mattress with a sigh.  It was unnervingly quiet.  Having grown up in the heart of Boston, she was used to the ambient sounds of the city.  Once she and Nate bought the house in Sanctuary Hills, she’d insisted on leaving the radio on at night rather than falling asleep to the odd silence of the neighborhood.  It had driven Nate nuts until they discovered her classical station often soothed Shaun’s nighttime colic.

     “Get some sleep, boy,” Nora said, rolling onto her side as Dogmeat curled up behind her legs, his head resting on her hip.  She stared at the dark wall until exhaustion dragged her eyes closed and she drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: From my reading of Boston's history, Goodneighbor is based on the old neighborhood of Scollay Square, famous for its theater and for Mary Goodneighbor, a burlesque dancer the police secretly filmed doing a (what was then considered) dirty dance so they could arrest her. I like to think the Memory Den and Irma herself are loosely based off this history. :-D


	7. Awkward Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics should have died when the bombs dropped.

     “She took on Skinny’s goons?  Alone?”

     Nick nodded, stubbing out his cigarette and then lighting the next. “All but about six or seven, I’d say.  And by the smell of things, she didn’t talk them into standing down.”

     “Damn,” Hancock replied, flopping back onto the couch across from the detective. “I’ve been trying to find someone to clear those assholes out for months.  I owe her about 300 caps now.  Wouldn’t have bet three times that a Vaultie could take on the job.”

     “I’m not sure she’s your run-of-the-mill Vault Dweller,” Nick replied, “I mean, the only one still running in the Commonwealth is 81, and I’ve never even heard of 111.  She seems damn familiar, too…”

     “Familiar?” Hancock asked, “Think she’s actually a Wastelander?  Not a smart one; that Vault suit kind of makes her a walking target out here.”

     Nick shrugged. “Not like I can keep this Nick and the old one straight sometimes, anyway.”

     “We all have those moments.”

     “You might have quite a bit fewer if you laid off the Jet a bit.”

     Hancock smirked. “Don’t let our mystery girl run off before I get a chance to thank her personally.”

     “Good seeing you again, John.”

 

     Dogmeat had woken Nora just as morning sunshine struggled into Goodneighbor, scratching impatiently at the door as she stepped sluggishly into her jeans and t-shirt.  She decided to ditch the suit and armor for the time being; they were all sweaty and bloodstained and the smell made her want to retch.  She stuffed them into the bag she’d been carrying, along with the last of her food and a bottle of water, keeping her 10mm easily accessible at her right hip.  The warmth and weight as it sat snugly in the leather holster Preston had found for her had become reassuringly familiar.

     “I’m coming,” she said as Dogmeat whined and began pacing in front of the door. “Patience is a virtue.”

     He raced ahead of her out of the hotel and peed on the side of the building, then dashed away to greet someone crossing the street ahead.  It was Nick.

     “Sleep well, Nora?”

     She nodded. “I did.  Are you heading back to Diamond City now?”

     “I hate to keep delaying you, but I need just another hour or so,” Nick replied, “Got one last item of business, then we’re go.”

     “It’s alright,” Nora replied, tamping down her need to yell in frustration. “I’ll be…around.”

     “Don’t get in to too much trouble.”

     He smiled at her before turning and making his way towards a flashy neon sign – _Memory Den_ – and Nora waved back weakly.  Whoever had created this synth version of her old friend had done a damn good job.  How many times had she heard that?

     _See you Monday, Nora.  Don’t get in to too much trouble._

     _I’ll do my best, Nick.  Have a good weekend._

Nora shook her head as Dogmeat shoved his head under her hand and smiled in spite of herself.  At least she didn’t have to keep secrets from him.

 

     Hancock glanced out the grimy window of the Old State House, eyes scanning the street below until he found her.  She had shed the Vault suit in favor of a more nondescript outfit, but he recognized that dark, not-red, not-brown hair she wore loose over her shoulders and the unusually well-fed dog at her side.  She was talking to it, making strange motions with her hands.  At each motion, the dog performed some specific action – sit, lie down, come, over there.  She rewarded it with some small treat pulled from her pocket.

     He had seen trained dogs, but the humans in their company were typically of the Raider variety.  This woman wasn’t a Raider, he felt sure of that.  She was unscarred, the armor she wore over her Vault suit was too commonplace, and – unless she had more quite cleverly hidden – she only carried one weapon.  There were curves under her clothes, the unmistakable evidence of having never missed a meal, and her skin was pale and rosy, as if she hadn’t spent her life baking under the Commonwealth’s unending summer.  Who was this woman and _why_ had she piqued his interest so sharply?

    

     Nora had used up almost all the Brahmin jerky training Dogmeat by the time he lost interest and wandered down the street after some scent that caught his nose.  She watched him, leaning against the old brick building with her hands stuffed awkwardly in her pockets.

     _I need a book.  Wonder if the library survived…_

     Nate had always brought her books when she was anxious.  Reading had been her escape from almost everything, for as long as she could remember, and if she had ever needed an escape, it was now.

     “So Nick told me about your scuffle with Skinny Malone’s gang.”

     The gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts as Goodneighbor’s mayor sauntered up to her.  Nora couldn’t decide if he was preening or just that naturally confident in himself.

     “They were in my way,” she replied, shrugging.  Hancock grinned and gave that little laugh of his.

     “I guess that’s as good a reason as any,” he said, “They’ve kind of been in my way, too.  Internal political power struggle, if you get my drift.”

     Nora sighed. “I was really hoping politics would die when the bombs dropped.”

     For the first time, Hancock didn’t have an immediate reply.  An awkward silence hung between them for a moment before he broke it by fumbling for something in his pocket.

     “Well, either way,” he said, offering her the leather pouch he’d pulled out. “There was a, uh, _bounty_ on those guys.  This is yours.  Spend it in good health.”

     Nora took the pouch.  It was heavy with caps.  “Um…thanks.” 

     “My pleasure, sunshine,” Hancock answered, “I do have more work, if you’re looking.”

     “If it involves bullets, I’m not interested.”

     “Nah, this should be a lot simpler.  Just some scouting.”

     “Details?”

     “Pickman Gallery,” Hancock said, “Heard of it?”

     “Not since that Lovecraft phase I went through in high school.”

     Hancock gave her a look as though she’d suddenly started shouting at him in tongues.

     “Never mind,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “So this place needs scouting?  What would I be looking for?”

     “Well, usually it’s Raider country up there, but they’ve been real quiet,” Hancock continued, “Like, uncomfortable post-coitus quiet?”

     “Okay…”

     “I need as much detail as you can give about what might be going on up there.”

     Nora let out a deep breath and nodded. “Alright,” she said, “I’ll take a look as long as you don’t have a deadline for completion.  I’m hoping my business with Nick will take up my time soon.”

     “A pretty gal like you ain’t trying to track down some wayward husband, I hope.”

     “My son is missing.”

     Another awkward silence.

     “I’m sorry,” Hancock said after a moment, “But if anyone can help you, it’s Nick.”

     Nora certainly hoped so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fun fact: Pickman and his creepy-ass gallery is based on an old H.P. Lovecraft story called "Pickman's Model". Worth a read if you are at all into supernatural/horror.


	8. San Francisco Sunlights

     “So you were on ice, huh?  A secure facility?”

     Nora nodded and rubbed the back of her neck.  She could still feel the sting of a tiny needle jabbing her, pumping her full of some strange sedative as the cryonics rebooted.

     “That takes skill and determination,” Nick continued, “These kidnappers had an agenda.  Can you describe them?”

     “There were two of them.  One was wearing a mask and a hazmat suit of some sort, all white.  The other was a man in a leather jacket.  He had some sort of metal brace on his arm.”

     “Improvised armor, maybe?” Ellie interjected, coming up behind Nick and handing him a worn file folder.

     He nodded in agreement. “A lot of mercenaries do that to look tough.  What else can you tell me, Nora?”

     “The man looked…middle aged, maybe?  His voice was…dark.  Cold.”

     “Do you remember what he looked like, besides the armor?”

     Nora pressed a finger to her temple, attempting to stymie the flood of sounds and images rushing through her brain.  She’d never forget that face.

     “He was tall.  Bald.  Long scar across one side of his face.”

     “Scar, huh?” Nick said, “You didn’t happen to hear the name ‘Kellogg’, did you?”

     “Of course,” Nora snapped, pressing harder on her temple. “I heard their names, addresses, Christmas lists, and the location of their diary keys!”

     She seemed to be instigating quite a few awkward silences lately. 

     “I’m sorry.  But no, they didn’t…say anything that might identify them.  Who is Kellogg?”

     “What do you think, Ellie?”

     “The description matches pretty well,” she replied, motioning at the folder she’d handed Nick. “He only left about a month ago.”

     “I was released from the Vault a month ago.”

     “That’s a pretty convenient coincidence,” Nick muttered, rifling through pages on his desk. “Kellogg was a pretty well-known mercenary around these parts.  He bought an empty house over in the West Stands a while ago, but he up and disappeared not too long ago.”

     “He had a little boy with him,” Ellie added, and Nora’s heart lurched. 

     “A little boy?  Was his name Shaun?”

     “I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Ellie said, “They kept to themselves and the boy didn’t go to the school, as far as I’m aware.”

     “Nobody else has bought that place since, right?”

     Ellie shook her head and Nora had to grip the arms of her chair hard to avoid bolting for the door.

     “We should go check it out.”

     “Just be careful,” Ellie warned, “Security doesn’t go up there much but you don’t want them to see you snooping.”

 

     Nora mustered up every ounce of self-discipline and charm she could as she faced Mayor McDonough’s all-too-familiar shark smile.  She’d gotten slimier men than him to sign warrants on even less evidence – two hundred years ago, perhaps, but she was still the same savvy lawyer she’d been then.  She could convince him to hand over the key to an empty house.

     “I need the key to the house in the West Stands,” she said, “The one that belonged to Kellogg.”

     “May I ask why?”

     “I need to find Kellogg.  There might be some clues inside as to his whereabouts.”

     McDonough eyed her silently for a moment and she desperately hoped she didn’t look as dirty, exhausted, and impatient as she felt.

     “I’m sorry,” he said after what felt like an hour, “I can’t just _give_ you the key.  I have a duty to uphold my citizen’s privacy.  Besides, why would I even have the key to a citizen’s private home?”

     _Because you’re a smarmy dick-face and I’m guessing the Fourth Amendment doesn’t exist anymore._

     “Please, Mayor McDonough,” she said, struggling to maintain her composure. “It’s a matter of life and death that I find Kellogg.”

     McDonough shook his head but continued to smile at her. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

     Nora’s fingers itched to grab her 10mm and shove it in McDonough’s face, but she just bit the inside of her lip and turned to leave the mayoral office.  The double doors swung shut behind her loud enough to make McDonough’s secretary jump.

     “Oh, don’t look at me,” the woman said, shaking her head as Nora made eye contact. “I’d lose my job.  I can’t.”

     Nora felt her self-control crumple and she closed the distance between them, gripping the secretary’s arm tighter than she meant.

     “Please.”

     “I’m sorry, really, I am --”

     “Geneva, _please_ ,” Nora continued, unable to maintain her composure much longer. “Please.  Kellogg kidnapped my baby.  I have to find him.”

     Silence fell between them and she saw Geneva’s eyes flicker over to the guard standing near the elevator.  He was staring down into the park and Geneva let out a small sigh.

     “Alright.  I’ll just… _forget_ I left the key on my desk.”

     Nora could have kissed the woman as she quietly slid open her bottom desk drawer, pulled out a small silver key, and slipped it into her palm.

     “Your baby is lucky to have a mother like you.”

    

     “Does this place seem awfully small to you?”

     “It’s about to double in size.”

     Nora pressed the red button under Kellogg’s desk and stood back in triumph as the wall to her right slid away, revealing a hidden room.

     “Damn, you’re good,” Nick replied, “Come see me if you need a job after you find your son.”

     “I learned from…good cops about 200 years ago.”

     “Is that right?”

     “I was a lawyer,” she said, “District attorney’s office.  One of the first searches I got to authorize after getting promoted involved a couple hidden rooms.”

     It had actually been her very first, when the human Nick Valentine was also new to Boston, and he was the one who had told her all about the proverbial big red button under the desk, but she decided that was probably too much detail to unload right then.

     Synth Nick was examining the hidden room, muttering under his breath to himself.  Nothing jumped out at Nora – it was a single square room with metal shelves along one wall and a worn red armchair in the corner.  The shelves were stacked with bottles of purified water, various food items, and a few Army-green ammunition boxes.

     “San Francisco Sunlights,” Nick said suddenly, holding up a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray by Kellogg’s armchair. “Kind of a particular brand to have way over here in the Commonwealth, don’t you think?”

     “They smell disgusting.” Nora wrinkled her nose at the thought of those being smoked around her baby.

     Nick hummed in agreement, staring intently at the cigar for a moment.  “You know, a Commonwealth mutt like Dogmeat can usually track a scent for miles.”

     “You don’t think it’s been too long since Kellogg left?” Nora replied, trying not to get her hopes too high.

     “It’s worth a shot,” Nick said, pushing the front door open again. “Come here, boy.”

     Dogmeat glanced at Nora and she beckoned him forward, away from his post on the lookout for any Diamond City guards that might notice them.  Nick held out the cigar for him to inspect.

     “What do you think, boy?  Good enough to track?”

     Dogmeat sniffed the cigar once and then pressed his nose to the ground, stepping in erratic circles that gradually made a path away from the house and back down into the city market.  He stopped and glanced back at Nick and Nora, then barked once.

     “Looks like he’s got it,” Nick said triumphantly, turning to Nora.  She had already gone to Kellogg’s ammunition boxes and started loading up her pack with the goodies found inside. 

     “You’re going to go after him with just a 10-mil?”

     Nora gave him a steely look. “I can’t wait around to find an army to back me up.  This man might have my son.”

     “I’m not saying find an army, Nora,” Nick replied, subtly easing into the doorway to block her path. “I’m saying stop and think and make a plan.”

     “I have,” Nora replied, her voice dangerously calm. “I’ve already waited almost a month since I crawled out of the Vault.  I’m not waiting any longer.”

     “This is one of the most dangerous mercenaries in the Commonwealth,” Nick said, “You’re an inexperienced, pre-war housewife.”

     “And that man has my son!” she shouted, the blood flaring in her face. “Thank you very much for your help, Nick, but I’m going.”

     She stuffed her handgun into its holster and pushed past him, a San Francisco Sunlight clutched in one hand.  Nick watched her retreating back with mingling admiration and anxiety.

     “Keep her safe, Dogmeat.”


	9. Resilient Woman

     “There she is.  The most resilient woman in the Commonwealth.”

     It was him.  It was the cold, ugly bastard that murdered Nate and helped them take her baby.  He looked older, grayer and more lined, but his eyes hadn’t changed – cold, dark, unfeeling.  A satisfied smirk crossed his lips.

     “Time’s up, Kellogg.  Where is he?  Where is my son?”

     Nora kept her shotgun trained on him, although he continued to hold his hands up in a sign of surrender.  She had taken the shotgun off a dead Raider not far from Fort Hagen and although it kicked like an angry mule, it’s firepower was undeniable.  Once she had Shaun, she planned to blast a hole right through Kellogg’s smirk.

     “What’s the phrase?  So close, yet so far away?  That’s Shaun.”

     Nora took a step forward.  The skeletal synths guarding Kellogg lifted their weapons in response but she ignored them.  Her heart was drumming a furious beat against her ribs as anger tore through her.

     “I’m not going to ask again, you mercenary motherfucker.  Where.  Is.  My.  Son?!”

     “Don’t worry, he’s safe,” Kellogg said, his voice infuriatingly calm. “A little older than you might have expected, but he’s happy and loved.”

     “Where?” Nora shouted, taking another step forward.  Dogmeat growled, teeth bared, as the Synths lifted their guns higher.  She’d fought her way through the skeletal monstrosities since Dogmeat brought her to the front doors of Fort Hagen, taken aback at first by their motionless eyes and robotic voices, but she studiously ignored them now.  All that mattered was getting Kellogg to talk.

     “He’s in the Institute,” Kellogg said after a momentary pause, “And you won’t find him.”

     “Try me,” Nora spat through clenched teeth, “I found you; I’ll find this Institute.”

     Kellogg let out a little laugh that made Nora’s pulse jump with barely-contained fury. “You don’t find the Institute.  It finds you.”

     “Then I have no reason to not blow your brains out,” Nora replied, pressing the shotgun to her shoulder.  Before she could squeeze the trigger, Kellogg _vanished_.  The gun recoiled into her shoulder and steel pellets sprayed into the computer terminals he’d been standing in front of.  A flash of blue light shot past her and Dogmeat launched himself on to one of the Synths, jaws locked around its face.  The second Synth fired its weapon and the blue laser hit her thigh, burning through the leather armor and her vault suit underneath.  It felt like someone had shoved a hot poker through her leg.

     She swung the shotgun and fired wildly at the Synth.  It’s left arm exploded and dropped uselessly.  Stumbling backwards, pain ricocheting through her injured leg, she fired again and took off the other arm.  Where the hell had Kellogg gone?

     Dogmeat dispatched the Synth he’d taken down with one final yank, ripping apart the plastic casing that functioned as a head and exposing a mass of sparking wires and scratched circuits.  The armless Synth charged Nora as she fumbled to reload her shotgun, but Dogmeat grabbed its leg and pulled it to the ground.  Nora swung the butt of the gun at the Synth’s head and the two objects met with a metallic crack.  She swung again, struggling to stay upright.  The wound on her leg throbbed even though it had done little more than scald the flesh of her thigh.

     “You aren’t going to win this.  You _can’t_ win this.”

     Kellogg suddenly reappeared, standing farther back in the room.  He had a gun pointed at her, a bull-barrelled revolver she recognized as the one he’d used on Nate.  Something bigger and more intense than anger boiled up in her chest, flowing out in a scream that reverberated around the room.  Kellogg fired the gun once, straight at her.  It slammed into her chest piece, knocking her backward as though someone had hit her with a sledgehammer.  She screamed again as Dogmeat latched on to Kellogg’s leg, forcing herself up off the floor.  Her shotgun was loaded and Dogmeat had pulled Kellogg down to one knee.  He fired another shot at the shepherd but missed; Nora took the opening and charged forward, firing once before the mercenary could straighten up.  The shot hit his shoulder, blood spraying everywhere.  The handgun clattered to the floor and Nora launched herself at him, fingers enclosing his throat.

     “You murdering bastard!”

     She squeezed tighter as Kellogg fell backward, nails digging into his skin.

     “Where is the Institute?  Where is Shaun?”

     She pinned Kellogg to the floor, one knee on his chest, hands still wrapped around his throat.

     “You’re good,” Kellogg rasped, his mouth filling with blood. “I underestimated you.”

     “Shut up,” she seethed, unhooking her 10-mil from its holster.  The little gun didn’t have the same stopping power as her shotgun, but it felt more natural to her.  She pressed the barrel against Kellogg’s forehead and kept her other hand around his throat.  The vision of putting a bullet through his skull like he had done to her beloved Nate gave her an intense, dark pleasure.

     “Where is the Institute?”  


     “Just wait,” Kellogg replied, his voice choked as dark blood dribbled down his chin. “They’ll find you and then you’ll get your answers.”  


     Nora let out a frustrated growl and stood, her gun still pointed at Kellogg.

     “Go to hell, you bastard.”

     She squeezed the trigger and emptied all six rounds into his chest. 

 

     After using a Stimpak on herself and one on Dogmeat, Nora collapsed on the floor of the underground room, tearing off her armor and curling in on herself.  Her rage had drained away as Kellogg’s blood pooled underneath his body, replaced with an aching, empty loneliness.  She had found the man who murdered Nate, the man who had been in her nightmares for weeks, the man who had taken her child – she had found him and put him down like a rabid mongrel, but she still had nothing.  Her revenge wasn’t sweet; it was cold and bitter and the tears fell from her eyes uncontrollably.

     She gripped her hair and sobbed as all the emotions she had been repressing rushed forward.  Her husband, her best friend, her protector and confidante, was dead and cold.  She wasn’t going to wake up from this nightmare and cry into his chest for a few minutes, then fall back asleep in the warm bed they shared.  For thirteen years he had been there – her Nate, tall, dark, and handsome, always ready with a smile and an embrace.  He had held her when her mother died and she held him when he lost his brother, they held each other before he deployed and when love for their baby boy felt overwhelming.  And now, when she faced something bigger and more terrifying than anything else, he wasn’t there.

     Dogmeat shoved his nose between her arms, forcing her to look up at him.  He had something in his mouth – a bit of kidney-shaped machinery with wires sticking out of either end.  Dogmeat dropped it into her lap and whined petulantly.  It felt strangely _squishy_ , like some sort of metal/plastic hybrid.  She had no clue what it was but stuffed it into her pocket anyway.  Dogmeat settled down next to her and placed his head in her lap.  She leaned down and hugged his fluffy neck, her breath hitching.  They stayed like that for a long time before Nora had no more tears.

     She grabbed her pack, dropped nearby, and rummaged through it.  She had Stimpaks, but she needed something stronger.  She hadn’t slept since leaving Goodneighbor – two days ago? – and had barely eaten.  She was almost out of ammunition and supplies.  She had a syringe of Med-X and an inhaler of something called Jet, an oddity she picked up in an abandoned raider camp on the trip from Goodneighbor to Diamond City.  Nick had advised her not to use it – slippery slope, he said, but it could be sold to one of the market vendors for a reasonable price. 

     She didn’t know what it did, nor did she care.  She slipped the Med-X into a vein and depressed the plunger, then tossed it aside and uncapped the Jet.  The pain of her leg injury was making her head swim and bruises had already begun to spread across her chest where Kellogg’s bullet hit her chest piece.  

     Inhaling the Jet was like inhaling bleach – it burned all the way from her lips to the bottom of her lungs, but only for a moment.  She retched once as her vision blurred and then slid back into focus.  The pain dulled and her own footsteps sounded warped, like she was listening to an echo from far away, but she stood and turned her boots north, Dogmeat following without hesitation.

 

     Preston was coming back around the southern edge of Sanctuary, patrolling the stone wall bordering the river, when he saw her come stumbling up.  It was dark, probably close to midnight, and everyone else had gone to sleep.  He reached for his gun automatically before a bark rang out against the silence and Dogmeat came running up to him. 

     “Hey, boy,” he said, “I’m mighty glad to see you again.”

     The dog paced around him anxiously, then ran back towards the figure now making its way across the wooden bridge into the neighborhood.  Preston squinted and immediately recognized that Vault suit.

     “Nora!” he called, jogging up to meet her. “I honestly wasn’t sure you’d come back --”

     He stopped as Nora staggered up to him, nearly collapsing as her pack fell to the ground.

     “Easy, easy,” he coaxed, putting an arm around her and hauling her back to her feet. “Dogmeat, go get Codsworth.  Nora, what’s wrong?  Are you hurt?”

     She was dirty and covered in blood spatters, but didn’t seem to be wounded herself.  She wasn’t wearing any armor and as her head lolled back so she could look at him, he saw her pupils were dilated, the gray-blue irises bright and hyper-focused despite her rag-doll limb control.  He recognized the symptoms from watching Mama Murphy over the years – she was strung out on Jet, like she’d been using nonstop for a few days.

     “I killed him, Preston,” she slurred, tripping over her own feet. “I killed him.”

     “It’s alright, Nora.  I’ve got you.”

     He guided her back up the avenue towards the house she had previously occupied.  Codsworth and Dogmeat met them halfway there.

     “I don’t think she’s injured,” he assured the nervous Mr. Handy, “She just needs rest.”

     Once in her house, Preston eased her onto the ancient, moth-eaten couch.  She flopped over like an infant, eyes closed and face flushed.  Her breathing was ragged but even and he found nothing but old bruises and a small burn on her leg as he checked her over.

     “Keep an eye on her,” he told Codsworth as Dogmeat climbed onto the couch next to Nora, resting his head protectively on her hip. “Come find me when she wakes up.”

     “Of course, Mr. Garvey,” Codsworth replied, “I shan’t hover an inch until she is her old self again.”

     Preston nodded and draped his duster over her.  He doubted she was going to be her ‘old self’, whoever that might be, for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for this chapter to end up so long, but whatever. I sincerely apologize for the loads of angst contained within.


	10. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora finally gets a decent meal and makes a friend.

     Nora slept off and on for three days, waking only long enough to chug some water and stare at the ceiling aimlessly for a short time.  Codsworth brought her bottles of fresh water and offered food that she nibbled at before feeling the urge to vomit it back up.  In the haze of coming down, she moved from the old couch to the bedroom, rolling into her blanket and covering her head to block out the incessant sunshine.  Dogmeat came and went, napping in his favorite spot curled up behind the crook of her legs and then leaving to do whatever he did.  She heard people talking – it sounded like more had come to settle down with Preston’s original group – and wanted to join them, but every time she sat up to go outside, she felt inexpressibly exhausted and instead curled back into her cocoon.  Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to face Preston after falling all over him like some brain-dead junkie.

     Hunger finally drove her out of the nest she’d built in her old bedroom.  The sun was still struggling over the horizon in the east and there was a dewy chill to the air, but she could hear people milling about outside.  In the short time she had been gone, the unsalvageable home across the street had been cleared off the old foundation, making room for a large cooking spit and a haphazard mass of tables and chairs.  She peeked out the window and saw Sturges and Preston chatting together at the spit.  Whatever they were cooking smelled wonderful; the best thing she had smelled since the morning 210 years ago when Codsworth brought her that fresh cup of coffee. 

     She quickly stripped out of her old Vault suit, trying not to gag at the bloodstains on it, and changed into her trusty jeans and flannel.  She raked her fingers through her hair and made a mental note to scavenge some old houses for an actual hairbrush soon.

     “Ah, Miss Nora!  You’re up!”

     Codsworth came floating down the hall, waving one mechanical arm excitedly at her.

     “Thanks for taking care of me, Codsworth,” she said, “I owe you one.”

     “Not at all, ma’am,” he replied dismissively, “It was my pleasure.  I’m just relieved to have you home safe and sound.  I take it you, um, weren’t able to find young Shaun?”

     Nora shook her head. “No.”  


     “Ah.”

     “You guys have been busy here,” Nora said before he could continue on that painful subject, “What I’ve seen looks…great.”

     It wasn’t _great_ , per se, but it was a damn sight better than most other parts of the Commonwealth she had seen so far.  One dilapidated house had been removed and two others were in the process of being cleared away, along with the few fallen trees in the neighborhood.  She had helped Sturges dig a well before leaving for Diamond City; she now saw two more like it as she stepped out the front door.  The detritus and broken furniture that had littered the front lawns and road had been cleared away and the weeds in the avenue were worn down.  Under what promised to be a cloudless day, the post-apocalypse Sanctuary Hills could actually pass for a decent place to live.

     “Hey, Nora!” Sturges called when he saw her standing awkwardly nearby, “What’s going on?”

     “Whatever you’re cooking,” she replied, trying not to salivate. “I haven’t smelled something like that in literally centuries.”

     “There’s a farm just to the west and they’ve got razorgrain,” Preston answered, handing her a bowl and spoon with a smile. “I grew up eating it with tarberries, but mutfruit makes a good substitute.”

     “Razorgrain?” Nora asked, peering into the bowl.  He had plopped a mutfruit – what seemed to Nora to be just a baseball-sized blueberry - into the bottom of the bowl and surrounded it with a steaming, viscous porridge of some sort.  It smelled almost like oatmeal.  She pressed the spoon into it, squishing the mutfruit, and took a bite.  It was thicker and lumpier than she had anticipated, but it was warm and tasted vaguely sweet.  Nora stifled a moan of pleasure.

     “This is fantastic,” she said, spooning up another bite. “I didn’t honestly think I’d get to eat something this good ever again.”

     “Wait until you try a fresh Brahmin steak,” Sturges told her, waggling his eyebrows.  Nora felt a pang of nostalgia and stuffed another bite of the razorgrain into her mouth to distract herself.  From the moment she met Sturges, he’d been a walking reminder of Nate’s kid brother, just twenty-years-old when he’d died.  The worn mechanic’s overalls and greasy hands, carefully-combed black hair and a love for anything that went _vroom_ – it was uncanny.

     Maybe it was because the food was radiation free, maybe it was because it was the first time she had eaten an actual meal in recent memory, maybe she was just starting to bury her sorrows in food – whatever the reason, Nora finished the bowl of razorgrain in a few quick bites as she sat in silence with Preston and Sturges.  Other settlers gradually emerged from the old houses and Preston introduced her to each one.  Most of them were quiet and skittish, barely meeting her eyes when they shook her hand, but she felt them watching her after the introductions were over.  She wondered how much Preston had told them about her – he’d introduced her simply as Nora, the one who helped him find Sanctuary – and also wondered how much she was comfortable with people knowing. 

     “Do you have anything that needs doing?” she asked after a while, once the sun had finished its climb over the horizon and the pot of razorgrain had been mostly claimed.

     “Well, quite a bit, but don’t feel like you need to jump in right away,” Preston said, “If you need some time to rest --”

     “Not even a little,” Nora interjected, “I need to stay busy or…or I end up in my own head.”

     Preston seemed to catch her meaning and nodded. “Alright.  Well, I was planning to visit the Abernathy farm again today.  Do a little more trading.  Mr. Abernathy did mention that he could use help with something.  Sound alright?”

     “Sounds perfect,” Nora replied, trying to smile.  She didn’t feel much like trekking through the Commonwealth, being that it had tried to kill her every time she left Sanctuary Hills, but it was either tag along with Preston or stick around with nothing but all the reminders of Shaun and Nate she had there.

     Ten minutes later, boots laced and her 10mm at her hip, she followed Preston out of the neighborhood, turning sharply west once they had cleared the old wooden bridge.  Nora walked a few feet behind him, wondering how best to approach talking to him.  After fifteen minutes of trekking through scrubby wilderness, she let out a heavy sigh.  The Abernathy Farm was just ahead and if she didn’t say it now, she’d chicken out and never say it.

     “Hey, Preston.  Can I talk to you for a minute?”

     “What’s on your mind?”

     “I – I wanted to thank you,” she said, “And apologize.”

     He looked confused. “For what?”

     “Well, thank you for helping me,” Nora replied, fiddling anxiously with her shirt hem. “You could have left me to die after that Deathclaw and left me to fall in the river and drown the other night --”

     “You don’t think I’d seriously have done either of those things, do you?” Preston looked alarmed, dark eyes wide with confusion and concern.

     “No, I don’t think you would have,” she backpedaled hastily, “I just mean…it’s hard enough out here to take care of yourself, and you had already committed to taking care of four other people, too…”

     “Well, same could be said for you, Nora,” he said, “You walked right into that fire fight in Concord and didn’t run when I asked for your help.  You went and got the fusion core and stepped into that Power Armor when you could have told me to piss off.  You stuck around here and helped us start rebuilding.”

     “It…it was the right thing to do.” Nora replied lamely, looking at her shoes.  Preston smiled.

     “Exactly,” he said, “Not a lot of people understand that anymore.  I don’t want to be the one that kills off that good spirit in another person.”

     “You’re a saint, Preston Garvey,” Nora said, smiling at him. “But either way, thank you.  And…I’m sorry for how I was the other night.  I’m not that kind of person usually, I just…”

     She trailed off and Preston nodded. “Been there, done that,” he said, “You left to find your son and didn’t come back with him.  Anyone would be torn up and hurting in that situation.”

     “I killed him,” Nora said, almost too quietly to hear. “I found the man that…”

     “I understand.”

     “He was the first person I ever _wanted_ to kill,” she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “When I saw him and he told me my son was gone, I just couldn’t think of anything but how much I wanted to put a bullet in his brain.  I shot him six times after he was already down and I didn’t regret it.  And when he was dead all I felt was…empty.”

     “So you got high to not feel that way anymore.”

     “Yeah.  Been there?”

     “Sort of,” Preston said, “It’s been a long time since I looked forward to the next day coming.  I’ve never used the chems, but I’ve wallowed and that’s just as unhealthy.”

     Nora let out a heavy breath.  Getting everything off her chest had been easier than she expected – talking to Preston felt easy and natural, as if they had known each other for years instead of just a few weeks.

     “Thanks for letting me babble to you, Preston.”

     He smiled and clapped her shoulder. “You’re my friend, Nora.  Babble at me any time.”

     Nora smiled back and followed as he led the way up the Abernathy Farm.  If she could make friends in this radioactive hellhole, then finding Shaun wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an attention whore, so please leave kudos and/or comments if you enjoyed reading.


	11. Grave Digging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t supposed to be her alone, 210-years-old in a thirty-year-old’s body, burying him alone with the distinct possibility that one day she’d catch a stray bullet from a Raider and be left to rot into nothing.

     Nora almost jumped back in surprise when Connie Abernathy threw her arms around her, hugging her fiercely.

     “I can’t thank you enough for this,” she said, stepping back.  She was clutching the little silver locket Nora and Preston had recovered from the Raiders, tears slipping freely down her cheeks.

     “You don’t have to,” Nora replied, feeling the woman’s pain. “One mom to another, it was my pleasure.”

     “If you and Preston ever need anything, you can count on us,” Connie said, swiping at her eyes. “You’re always welcome here.”

     Nora smiled as Connie gave her arm one last squeeze before turning and making her way to the back end of the farm, behind the house.  She felt a mingling sense of sadness and relief – relief that she and Preston had been able to dispatch the Raider gang that had been harassing the Abernathy Farm, but sadness that it was months too late for Mary.  Nora had a chance to get her child back, however slim the chance might be, but Connie’s daughter was long gone. 

     “Ready to head back?”

     Preston’s voice snapped Nora out of her reverie hard enough to make her jump. She swore under her breath and tore her eyes away from Connie, who was kneeling down at a lone gravesite behind the melon patch.

     “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”  


     “It’s alright,” Nora replied, shaking her head. “I was just thinking.  I’m exhausted; let’s get moving.”

     Nora shouldered her shotgun and took the lead back to Sanctuary Hills as the sun began to set behind them.

 

     Nora supposed that nights in Sanctuary were pleasant – in the few days she had been out and about, the settlers had relaxed noticeably around her, smiling and waving when she walked by, passing her plates of food at mealtimes, offering compliments on how well Dogmeat was trained or the crack shot she had become.  Nora responded to their greetings and compliments, trying to mimic their general cheerfulness despite the deep emptiness she felt so often.  She was genuinely happy for them – happy that they had a place to sleep and food to eat, happy that she could make them feel secure enough to let their guard down sometimes – but for her, the neighborhood was simply a constant reminder of everything she had lost.  She languished in her old house, slept in her old bedroom, and helped work a garden in the old park she’d taken Shaun to once upon a time, feeling displaced and unattached.  She could feign happiness around the settlers, but when dinner had been eaten and everyone had retired to their separate spaces, she was left sitting on the floor of her old living room, counting rounds and cleaning gun parts in silence and the yellow glow of an oil lantern.

     It was in those dark hours that her thoughts drifted back to Connie Abernathy and the gravesite behind the melon patch.  She felt like the world’s worst wife when she saw it, realizing that, in almost three months since she had first stumbled out of 111, she hadn’t once given thought to the fact that her husband was still encased in that old cryo-pod, literally frozen in time.  She should have gotten him out of there, found somewhere peaceful to lay him to rest.  Had their roles been reversed – and she often felt like they should have – she knew Nate would not have abandoned her body inside that concrete and steel tomb of lies.

     She also knew she wasn’t strong enough to go back into Vault 111.

    

     Preston wasn’t hard to find – he took the first night watch more often than not, leaving dinner with his gun loaded to prowl the man-made island’s borders until well after midnight when Jun Long or one of the other settlers would take over.  Nothing but the occasional bloodbug or radstag had yet to approach the settlement, but Preston was always vigilant, as though hordes of Raiders and Super Mutants waited just across the river.

     She approached him as he stopped to rest a moment on the broken stone wall, careful to walk loudly and through the starlight to avoid accidentally spooking him.

     “Everything alright?”

     Nora nodded. “Yeah,” she said, joining him on the stone wall. “I wanted to ask you a favor, actually.”

     “Anything.”

     She looked out towards the Red Rocket, chewing the inside of her cheek. “My husband, Nate…he’s still in the Vault.  Him and all my neighbors…they’re all dead.  When I was released from cryostasis, I left the Vault pretty much immediately.”

     She stopped, trying to get her tongue around the things she wanted to say without letting her emotions take over.  Preston didn’t say anything, waiting patiently while she chose her words.

     “I want to bury him.  I need that closure.  But I can’t do it myself.”

     Preston nodded solemnly. “How many people were there in the Vault?”

     “Fourteen of us,” Nora said, “Nate and I plus the baby, and eleven of our neighbors.”

     “So twelve gravesites.”

     “Yes.”

     Preston was silent for a minute, brow furrowed in thought. “Did you have a spot in mind?”

     Nora pointed east, to the wooded area behind one broken-down house. “That area used to be a park of sorts.  Benches and walking trails, that sort of thing.  Nate really liked it.”

     She blushed thinking about just how much Nate had liked it – so much he’d gotten her pregnant after one of their summer walks – and hoped Preston didn’t notice.

     “I’d be happy to help, Nora.”

     “Thank you, Preston.”

     They sat in a companionable silence, wind ghosting across the lake and through the bare-branched trees.  It was cold against Nora’s bare arms and she hugged herself instinctively.

     “It’s kind of weird that it hasn’t snowed this late in the season.”

     “Snowed?”

     Nora lifted her eyebrows quizzically. “It doesn’t snow anymore?”

     “I’m not even sure what that’s supposed to mean,” he said, “I mean, it sounds like something I may have read about in some old pre-war book, but…”

     “Damn.  I really liked snow,” she said, “It was like…when it got cold enough that instead of raining water droplets, it’d be little bits of frost.  My grandmother told me that Massachusetts used to gets tons of snow for several months of the year.  The climate had changed enough that in my time we didn’t get a whole lot, but a few inches from November to February was pretty normal.”

     “That kind of cold for that long sounds really inconvenient.”

     Nora laughed. “Yeah, a lot of people would agree with you.  But I always liked it.  Guess the bombs wrecked the global environment.”

     “Well, it has been a colder year than normal,” Preston said, “Maybe two hundred years is long enough to start rebounding.”

     Nora smiled and nodded, pulling her knees to her chest.  Although it was cold and the stone wall was uncomfortably hard, she didn’t want to go back to her dark, quiet, empty house.  Dogmeat was probably still passed out on her bed, snoring, and Codsworth would gladly talk to her if she initiated a conversation, but it was pleasant to just sit outside with Preston there.

     “You mind if I hang around while you keep watch?”

     “Not at all.”

 

     It took three days to dig enough graves for all those left in the Vault, three sweaty, dirt-slinging days during which Nora had to sneak off to cry more than once.  Sturges rigged a pulley system to help her lift dirt out of each pit, enlisting the help of one of the other settlers, a Ghoul woman named Eunice, to finish the task faster.

     “You are a dedicated woman, Nora,” Eunice said once the last grave had been completed, offering a hand to lift her out of the five-foot hole.  Her irradiated body made her look almost emaciated, but she was surprisingly strong.

     The bodies were brought out of the Vault and Nora gradually shoveled dirt onto them, losing her thoughts in the physical exertion.  She made it through six graves before she had to sit down, her head spinning.  Despite the nighttime cold, each day was still relentlessly hot and humid.

     “Here,” Eunice said, handing her a bottle of water. “You’re dehydrated.”

     Nora took the water and chugged gratefully, wiping the mingling sweat and tears from her face.  She still didn’t know how her neighbors had died – Kellogg had shot Nate when he refused to hand over Shaun, but what had happened to the others?  How had she made it out alive when they all seemed unharmed?

     Nora stood and picked up her shovel, returning to the work.  She had been so stupid – a prosecutor should have known better than to trust people like Vault-Tec.  She hadn’t wanted to die in the inevitable big one, but they’d stuck her family firmly in the path of the Institute, whoever they were, and now here she was, shoveling irradiated dirt onto her husband and neighbors with no idea where her son was or how to find him.  She woke up constantly with nightmares of being locked in small spaces.  She heard gunshots and Shaun wailing anytime it got too quiet.  She slept with a handgun next to her pillow and roamed the house like a caged Feral when the anger and loneliness made it impossible to sleep.

     She paused and looked down into Nate’s grave.  The only thing that kept her from crawling into that hole with him was the vague possibility that their son was out there somewhere.  God, did she want to lie down there next to him.  He had never given her those stupid platitudes – _I’ll never leave you, we’ll grow old together_ – but she had certainly envisioned them that way.  Side by side in the nursing home, gray and toothless, a mass of children and grandchildren coming to visit until they finally lived their last and were placed in side-by-side coffins.  It wasn’t supposed to be her alone, 210-years-old in a thirty-year-old’s body, burying him alone with the distinct possibility that one day she’d catch a stray bullet from a Raider and be left to rot into nothing.

 

     Preston watched Nora sit on the ground in the new graveyard for a long time before he decided it was okay to walk up.  She hadn’t been crying, just sitting there in front of the wooden marker with _Nathaniel James Wilson_ carved into it, so still she could have been mistaken for a statue.  

     “Do you need anything?”

     Nora looked up at him as he approached and shook her head. “No.  Just been thinking.”

     “What about?” he asked, knowing it was a stupid question but unable to think of anything else.  He had never been very good at this sort of thing, but he felt compelled to at least keep her company.

     “All the money I spent on life insurance,” Nora replied after a brief silence, letting out something like a cynical laugh. “I bought a policy after I found out I was pregnant, in case something ever happened to one of us.  I always put my family’s safety and security in someone else’s hands.”

     Preston had no clue what she was talking about, but he nodded solemnly anyway.  After another short silence, Nora stood and dusted herself off.  Her jeans were covered in splotches of mud and her hands were dark with it.  He could see a matching pair of blisters on the fleshy bits of her thumbs.

     “Preston, have you ever thought about trying to rebuild the Minutemen?”


	12. Forged By Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Valentine learns a little more about the Vault Dweller while she's with Preston scrubbing out Raider scum.

     Nick Valentine sat down at the old desk, waiting for the evidence terminal to boot up, one foot tapping anxiously.  He’d searched every nook and cranny of the old police station before finding the storage basement.  There were two Protectrons lying in a sparking heap on the stairwell behind him, the last remnants of a 200-year-old security system.  Rebooting the fusion core generator had been a breeze, but guessing the password to this terminal was going to be a pain in the ass.

     After almost ten minutes and multiple attempts, he found it.  The main page loaded slowly, the motherboard clicking ominously.  Nick scanned the list of files contained within.  They were organized by date, the last entry made the morning of October 23, 2077.  He navigated down until he found the right day – July 28, 2076, then clicked on her name.  Jennifer Lands.

     There wasn’t much in the file, as he had expected.  An autopsy report back-dated by six weeks.  Reports from first responders.  Eyewitness statements.  Nick pushed a holotape into the terminal and started copying all the information over when a name under the eyewitness list caught his eye.

     _Nora Wilson._

     “Can’t be,” he muttered to himself, opening the file.  It was a written report he skimmed over in growing surprise, a few phrases jumping out at him.  _We were going to lunch.  I think he was following us.  He just dropped it and walked away._

Nick clicked through the other files under Jennifer Lands until he found the hard stuff – photographs of the scene and a video from the surveillance camera across the street.  He opened the video and pressed play, then sat back in the chair hard.

     “Well, shit.  I knew she looked familiar.”

 

     Nora scraped her hair back from her face, twisting the sweaty strands into the best French braid she could manage and then tying it off with a bit of scrap thread.  She desperately missed the days of shampoo and using bobby pins for their intended purpose.

     “This isn’t going to be easy,” Preston said, reappearing around the corner of their camp as she began buckling her armor on.

     “Is anything out here _easy_?”

     “You got me there,” Preston replied, “But this will be especially difficult.  They’ve got flamethrowers.”  


     Nora paused. “Flamethrowers.”

     “Yes.  They’ve got a range of 30 to 50 feet, I’d say.  How good are you with a long-range rifle?”

     Nora wanted to pack up and tell the Commonwealth to bite her, but she had promised at least a dozen settlers they’d take care of these flame-throwing assholes.  Granted, that was before she knew about the flamethrowers, but…a promise was a promise.

     “I’ve seen a rifle.  Once.”

     Preston laughed. “That’s reassuring,” he said, “Okay, how’s your throwing arm?”

     “Uh…”

     “Take these,” Preston replied, handing her two grenades from a pouch at his belt. “I’ll take out as many in the front as I can before they notice us.  When I give the word, you throw.  With any luck, we can get rid of the ones in the front before they have a chance to barbecue us.”

     Dogmeat whined at Nora’s leg, nudging her knee with his nose.

     “Oh, no,” she replied, clipping Preston’s grenades to her belt. “You are staying here, boy.  All that fluff makes you walking tinder.”

     He whined and tried to follow them, but Nora raised a hand firmly. “No.  _Stay_.”

     The shepherd stopped and sat down, huffing petulantly.  He whined once when she and Preston began walking again but stayed put.

     “He’s loyal.”

     “I can’t count how many times that dog has saved my ass since I got out of the Vault,” Nora replied, “I’d never live down the guilt if he got in the path of a flamethrower.”

     “I feel the same about you, so don’t rush in,” Preston said, his voice lowering as he gestured towards an outcropping of rock that overlooked Saugus Ironworks.  It provided a good view of the front entrance but there were enough bushes and trees around that they’d have cover in case of return fire.

     “I don’t rush in,” Nora whispered, watching Preston load a clip into his .308.

     “You’re a tad impatient,” he replied, crouching and lining up the sight. “Now, shooting long-range requires more thinking than anything.  Put your whole body behind the gun to eliminate the recoil.  Line up the target and take the wind into account before you fire.”

     Nora nodded and stepped back, watching the Raiders below them from her spot half-hidden behind a fallen log.  Preston waited for a moment, checking his aim, finger on the trigger.  Nora wasn’t sure what he was doing but she knelt there with baited breath.  Maybe she was impatient.

     After a minute or two, just when her attention had started to drift, Preston fired.  The shot went off with an echoing _crack_ and one of the Raiders crumpled.  The rest jumped to attention, yelling and looking around for the source of the shot.  Nora unclipped one grenade and slipped a finger through the ring, ready to pull and throw as soon as Preston said so.

     “I think I can get one more shot before they find us,” he said, lining up the rifle again. “Soon as they come towards us, throw that grenade right into the center of them.”  


     He waited another moment and then fired the second shot.  Nora stood and lobbed the grenade towards the mass of Raiders gathering around their fallen partners, then ducked behind cover like Preston.  One of the Raiders screamed for everyone to scatter seconds before the grenade detonated with an ear-splitting bang.   She heard more screaming, this time pained, pitiful cries of people grievously wounded. 

     “Come on!” Preston yelled, jumping from cover and charging into the encampment.  Nora followed, her shotgun out.  Preston took out two of the injured Raiders, cutting their screams short, and she fired at the only one left.  The shot missed center mass, clipping the Raider’s right shoulder.  Blood poured from the wound, drenching his road leathers and dented armor, but he ignored it and hoisted a flamethrower up.

     “Preston!” Nora shouted as the flamer coughed to life, raising her shotgun again.  This time she didn’t miss.  The Raider stumbled back as the shot sprayed into his chest piece, but he didn’t drop the flamer.  Fire shot from the end, catching Preston’s coattails as he dove away.  Nora swung the butt of her shotgun at the Raider’s face.  She could feel the heat of the flames through her armor, could smell the odor of burning oil and warm blood.  Her gun butt connected with the Raider’s face and he dropped.

     “You alright over there?”

     Nora leaned against the rusted shell of an old sedan, huffing to catch her breath.  She nodded and unscrewed the cap from her canteen, swigging down the warm water.  The smell of blood and charred metal and burnt oil was almost overpowering.  She could still hear the Raiders screaming, an echo bouncing around inside her skull.  When Nate had first told her that he could still hear men on the battlefield screaming, she hadn’t understood.  She had comforted him, distracted him with music or a walk or even just sex.  She had been confident that what she did made him feel better, but now that she knew exactly what he had been hearing, she wasn’t so sure that anything would drown out the screaming completely. 

     “Nora?”

     “Just catching my breath,” she replied, recapping her canteen. “Let’s get this over with.”

    

     The heat was almost unbearable.  Sweat beaded on Nora’s forehead and coated her back.  Her jeans and shirt clung to her body uncomfortably.  The Forged seemed unperturbed by it, though she wasn’t sure how – at least Slag was shielded by his Power Armor.

     “Jake, go home,” she said, swallowing against the fear budding behind her chest plate.  This was well and truly the most fucked she and Preston had been so far – outnumbered two to one in a confined space mostly taken up by a giant pot of molten metal, in which one false step meant instant death.  Jake looked at her and then back at the settler he held at gunpoint.  She could see his hand shaking.

     “I can’t.”

     “You always have a choice,” she said, “Put down the gun and go home.”

     “You run home to Mommy and I’m burning that farm down,” Slag interjected, his voice echoing down on them.

     “Shut up,” Nora snapped, lifting her shotgun to him. “Shut up or I will empty this fucking thing into your face.”

     The Forged lifted their own weapons in response.  There was a half second of tense silence in which Nora marveled briefly at the turn her life had taken before Slag let out a derisive laugh.

     “You got balls, I’ll give you that,” he said, “It’s been a long time since anyone was brave enough to talk to me like that.”

     Nora squeezed the trigger before she had really thought about what she was doing.  The shotgun kicked back into her shoulder as Slag’s head snapped back, blood and bone and brain matter splattering in every direction as he fell over, Power Armor thudding heavily.  Two laser shots soared over Nora’s shoulder and dropped the two Forged carrying flamethrowers.  Damn was Preston fast.

     Nora turned her gun to the last of the Forged, who stopped and dropped her gun, hands lifted pleadingly.

    “Get out of here,” she said, “Don’t come back.  Finch Farm, the Slog, County Crossing – they’re all under the protection of the Minutemen now.  If I hear of any of you pyromaniac freaks so much as looking at them, I will personally wipe you off the face of this earth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been longer than usual since I updated. I got a new book and we all know how those can be distracting. The next few chapters should be added regularly.


	13. Good Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora accepts the mantle of General of the Minutemen and gets a new clue in her search for Shaun.

     Preston began reassembling his gun piece by piece, glancing over at Nora in the lantern light.  After resupplying in Bunker Hill, they had begun the trek back to Sanctuary Hills.  It got dark before they could get very far so they had bunked down on the top floor an abandoned building.  Nora was stretched out on her bedroll, head pillowed on one arm, knees pulled up so she could rest a book on them.  He had advised her to keep her pack light, but she picked up books as though they were Stimpaks.  Every night they had been on the road, she settled in with one after eating and counting her ammo.  She usually fell asleep with it hanging open on her lap.

     “You’re not sneaky, you know.”

     “What?”

     Nora closed her book, one finger between the pages to mark her spot, and looked at him seriously.  He tried to look nonchalant but was fairly sure she saw right through him.  She never missed a trick.

     “You’ve been sneaking glances at me for hours,” she replied, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Something on your mind?”

     “I have a question.”

     “Shoot.”

     Preston set his gun down and met her gaze. “You asked me about rebuilding the Minutemen.  And we’ve done a lot of good out here taking care of the Forged and the Ghouls and so on.  But if you want to rebuild, who do you want to lead?”

     Nora raised her eyebrows. “You don’t?”

     “I’m not a leader, Nora,” he said, “I can defend a perimeter.  I can hold a group through a fire fight.  But leading takes more than just being a good soldier.”

     “Like what?”

     “Dedication.  That uncanny ability to make people trust you.  Willingness to make hard decisions.”

     “So what’s your real question?”

     “Will you take on the title of General?”

     Nora snorted. “Preston, I’m a pre-war housewife with a degree I’m fairly sure is useless now.  I’m not really General material.”

     “Don’t sell yourself short.”

     “I’m not trying to,” Nora argued, setting her book aside. “But why me?”

     “You’re a leader,” Preston answered, “You have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve met in a long time.  People trust you and I know for a fact that you can be counted on.  You’ve made a lot of difficult decisions in the few short months since you left the Vault and you still keep going.  You’re confident.”

     “I’m actually just really good at bullshitting.”  


     “Well you’ve done a damn good job at fooling me,” Preston replied, a smile tugging at his mouth. “What was it you did before the war?”

     “In the last few months before the bombs fell I was pretty preoccupied with just being a mother,” Nora replied, looking down at her hands. “I had complications after birth so I took more time off than usual.  But career-wise, I was lawyer.  I tried criminal cases in the Boston district.”

     “Back when there was due process of law.”

     “Yeah,” Nora said, giving him a rueful smile. “Although when I think about all the hoops I used to jump through sometimes and still have to see a scumbag walk free, I can appreciate Commonwealth justice a bit more.”

     “Who did you work with?”

     “Not many people.  They started drafting about five years before the bombs so our department was whittled down to bare essentials.  Two ADAs – me and a former classmate -- plus the District Attorney.  Two detectives and the beat cops.  I had a law student helping out during the summer.”

     “Prosecuting criminals must have been tough, especially in a big city with no help.”

     “Well, it kept me from going insane with worry after my husband was drafted.”

     “You adapt well.”

     “Only way to survive.”

     “Hard decisions made.”

     “Every day,” Nora said, settling back against the wall.  She sat in silence with Preston for a few minutes, then narrowed her eyes at him.

     “Think of something?”

     “You’re sneaky.”

     “Sorry?”

     “You Jedi mind-tricked me into realizing I’m exactly the leader you said I am.”

     “Nora, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

     “Oh, sure.”

     Nora shook her head and went back to her book.  Preston tried to suppress his smile as he finished reassembling his musket.  After a few minutes of silence, Nora yawned and closed her book, settling back onto her bed roll as she stared through the holes in the ceiling.

     “If I’m a General, then where’s my army?”

     “I’m afraid you’re looking at it,” Preston replied, turning the lantern down until the flame flickered out.  They were left in the shadows of patchy starlight.  Nora stared at the uncommonly clear sky – she had never realized just how many stars light pollution actually blotted from view.  Dogmeat appeared on the stairs, nails clicking quietly as he padded over to Nora and settled down beside her.  His muzzle was dark with dirt and blood that hadn’t been there when he trundled off into the ruins earlier.  After a few long minutes of comfortable silence, Preston looked over at her quizzically.

     “Seriously, though – what in the hell is a Jedi?”

 

     The sun still hung high in the cloudless sky when Nora and Preston made it back to Sanctuary Hills.  Dogmeat splashed into the river, lapping up the water and chasing a few tadpoles before plodding off after something more interesting in the neighborhood.  Most of the settlers were busy and greeted them with little more than distracted waves, but Sturges met them eagerly at the workshop he’d established for himself.

     “All yours,” Nora said, handing off the extra bag she’d been carrying since leaving Bunker Hill.  When they’d left to help out Finch Farm, he’d given them a scribbled list of junk items to look out for as they scavenged – old circuitry, aluminum, anything with copper wire.  He had mentioned building so many different things that she had no idea what he planned to do with any of it, but Sturges’s ingenuity seemed to know no bounds.

     “Hey, you mind if I take a look at that Pip-Boy of yours?” he asked, dumping the scavenged junk onto a table for sorting. “I had a few ideas.  I’ll leave it intact, I promise.”

     “Knock yourself out,” Nora replied, unbuckling the clunky accessory and handing it over.  With Preston navigating and almost no radiation to avoid, it had become an unwelcome weight on her wrist.

     “Oh, by the way, there’s someone here for you,” Sturges said as she turned towards her old house, “Arrived last night, said he was an old friend of yours.”

     Nora paused. “Did he give you a name?”

     “Valentine, I believe.  I told him to wait at your place.”

 

     Nick was sitting at the old dining table, leafing absentmindedly through one of the books she had collected.  Nora stood frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to say.  Why had he tracked her down all the way back here to Sanctuary?

     “Good to see you made it back here in one piece,” he said after a moment, closing the book and looking up at her. “Though I suppose since you don’t have your son, it didn’t go well with Kellogg.”

     “He had already passed Shaun off to the Institute.”

     “Shit,” Nick replied, shaking his head. “That complicates thing considerably.”

     “Kind of an understatement, don’t you think?”

     Nora dropped her bag and fell into a ratty armchair.  Silence fell between them and she looked around desperately for something to do.  After a few tense moments, Nick spoke again.

     “So I did a little bit of research into this old case of the original Nick’s,” he said, “You know, human Nick.  I get flashes of his pre-war life sometimes.”

     “I thought the Institute wiped everything before they dumped you.”

     “If they were trying to, they didn’t do a clean job of it,” Nick replied drily, “Since I see so much of his life, I’ve been wanting to put a bow on this old case of human Nick’s for a while.  You hadn’t come back so I went looking through some old ruins for information.  Nick was tracking this old mob boss named Eddie Winter.”

     Nora snorted. “’Mob boss’ is putting it lightly.”

     Nick gave her a rueful smile. “You knew me – him – before the bombs fell, didn’t you?”

     Nora sighed and looked down at her muddy boots, then began unlacing them as she talked. “My first job in law was as a legal secretary to one of the city judges, around 2073.  I moved around and got promoted fairly quickly since we were so short on people.  You – or human Nick or who the hell ever – transferred in from a Chicago precinct about the same time I started working as an ADA.  He was a great guy, kind of took me under his wing.  He was a really good friend.”

     “You knew Jenny, too.”

     Nora smiled. “I set you two up,” she replied, “Jenny managed the apartment building Nate and I lived in before we had Shaun.  I was pretty proud of myself when she flashed an engagement ring a few months after that first blind date.”

     “Why didn’t you tell me you knew the human Nick?”

     Nora tossed her boots aside and rubbed one ankle with a sigh.  Two centuries of cryostasis hadn’t frozen the arthritis out of her old ballet injury and all the walking she did nowadays wasn’t helping, either.

     “You were the first synth I had ever seen,” she replied after a moment, “When I went to Diamond City and heard that Nick Valentine was working as a private detective, I really just assumed it would be human Nick become a Ghoul.  The synths I heard about were either glorified robots or human-looking body snatchers.  You kind of threw me for a loop when I opened that door.”

     “You aren’t the only one,” Nick replied, “The Institute dumped me in a trash pile a good twenty years ago with the memories of a man who had been dead for almost two centuries and no clue as to what had happened to the world.  It was a very confusing two weeks for me.”

     “Well at least I saw the bomb hit,” Nora shivered, imagining how much more disconcerting it would have been to wake up one morning and find the world already destroyed. “How did you end up in Diamond City of all places?”

     “Long story,” Nick said with a dismissive wave, “I’ll tell you sometime.  Did you happen to get anything out of Kellogg?”

     “Just a lot of cryptic bullshit about how no one finds the Institute, the Institute finds them,” Nora replied.  It took most of her self-control not to throw something every time she thought about Kellogg.

     “I assume you killed him?”

     “Yes.”

     Silence fell between them.  Nora rubbed at a phantom pain that shot through her leg from the spot the synth’s laser had hit her.  She had speculated with Preston about them using some high-tech kind that targeted the nervous system directly – the hit felt like taking a fifty-caliber to the bone but had only left a nearly invisible burn scar the size of a dime on her thigh.

     “He didn’t happen to have any implants, did he?”

     “Implants?”

     “The rumors I’ve heard about Kellogg indicate that he’s been around a pretty long time,” Nick said, “A little too long, you know what I mean?”

     Nora shrugged. “He looked older than I remember from the Vault, but I was also looking at him through a frozen window in a panic.  When they woke me up long enough to take Shaun, it only felt like a few seconds from when the bomb hit and we went into the Vault.  I didn’t really have any concept of the passage of time.”

     “Well, I’ve heard rumors of the new Gen-3 synths – the ones that look human – having various brain chips and physical implants.  Makes them controllable and harder to kill.  I thought maybe, if the Institute had Kellogg in their pocket, he might be implanted.  A bit of tech can be studied and, maybe, it can be tracked.”

     Nora suddenly remembered the little piece of plastic Dogmeat had brought her after she shot Kellogg.  She jumped out of her seat and sprinted to her bedroom.  She had stored it at the bottom of a wooden lock box she kept under the bed, along with a copy of “The Synthetic Truth” and a circuit board taken from one of the Gen-1 synths at Fort Hagen.  The three items constituted all the clues she had to the existence and location of the Institute.

     “I don’t know what part of him this came from,” Nora said to Nick, handing him the strange device. “Dogmeat actually grabbed it, not me.”

     “That’s a damn smart mutt you’ve got, Nora,” Nick replied, turning the implant over in his hands.  It was pretty small, fitting into the palm of his good hand, ripped copper and plastic wires trailing from both ends.  She had wiped off most of the blood but a small stain remained on one side.

     “You should have come right back to me afterwards,” Nick continued, “If this is what I think it is, I know someone who might be able to help us find the Institute.”


	14. Pull Me Back

     “Now we have a way to keep in contact with you,” Sturges said to Nora, handing over her Pip-Boy. “I modified an old terminal and a ham radio to tune in directly to your Pip-Boy.  In theory, the range is about 25 miles without obstruction.  You’ll have to tune in periodically as you travel and check the range.”

     “How do I do that?” Nora asked, strapping the device back onto her wrist.

     “Right here,” Sturges showed her how to click through the menu options and find the right frequency.   
“This thing actually catches almost any type of radio signal, so you can listen in to a lot of stuff.  Typically, the signals are only one way, but if you press this button right here while turned into Radio Nora, I’ll get a warning blip and Preston can come find you.  Hit that if you ever need emergency assistance.”

     “Radio Nora?  Really?”

     Sturges grinned at her. “You like it?  Only Sanctuary will have the privilege of tuning in, but once I get these generators here working properly, I’m going to look into connecting us with some of the other settlements around here.”

     “Sturges, you’re a Commonwealth treasure,” Nora replied, “I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”

     “Be careful out there.”

     “I do my best.”

     She shouldered her pack and waved as Nick lead the way out of Sanctuary.  Dogmeat followed a few steps behind.  Preston stood waiting at the guard tower, holding a worn leather hat he held out to Nora.  It was like his own, but without one edge of the brim pinned back.

     “I took this from the last Minuteman that left Quincy with us,” he said, “His name was Daniel.  He saved me when I got swarmed by a couple Ferals over in Lexington.  You saved me from Raiders less than 24 hours later, so I think it’s fitting that you have it.”

     Nora took the hat, sadness and gratitude grappling with each other in her chest. “Thank you, Preston.”

     She hugged him, clutching the old leather tight.  He was stiff in her embrace, as though he wasn’t sure how to respond, then relaxed momentarily and patted her back.

     “Stay safe,” he said after she released him, “I hope you find the help you’re looking for.”

 

     “Are you people crazy?” Dr. Amari demanded, dark eyes darting between Nora and Nick. “Never mind the fact that you’re asking me to defile a corpse, but you do realize that the Memory Loungers require intact, _living_ brains to function?”

     “Well, Dogmeat already did the defiling,” Nora replied drily, “And I don’t need full, vivid memories.  I mean, those would be great so long as they’re relevant…”

     Nick cleared his throat and Nora realized she had started to ramble. 

     “I just need some clues.  Anything that might help me figure out where he took my son.”

     She held out the brain implant to Dr. Amari, who took it with a frown.  She studied it for a moment, peering at the wires and muttering to herself.

     “This is a cybernetic augmenter,” she said, “It connects directly to the hippocampus.  You might just be in luck.”

     “You can use it?”

     “It’s similar to something I’ve seen in Gen-3 synths,” Dr. Amari replied, “But…”

     “But what?”

     Dr. Amari sighed and looked part Nora to Nick. “I would need to connect it to a synth brain to even get it to work.  And then probably to a human brain to translate the information into visuals that the Memory Loungers can process.”

     “Hook us up, then, Doc.”

     “Wait, wait, wait,” Nora said, holding up a hand. “Is this dangerous in any way to me or Nick?”

     “Well, I’ll be hooking foreign technology I only half know how to use into his brain and then linking yours up, too,” Dr. Amari dead-panned, “So yes, there are risks.  But they aren’t astronomical.”

     “Nick, I can’t let you do this,” Nora said, “The last thing I want is to fry your motherboard.”

     “Look, Nora,” Nick said, sitting down in a chair next to the Memory Lounger, “I’m not exactly under warranty anymore.  And you really aren’t the only one who would like to take a crack at the Institute.”

     Silence fell between the three of them for a long minute while Nora tried to think.

     “What exactly are you going to do?”

     “I’m going to connect this implant to Nick’s memory processors and see if there’s any information in there,” Dr. Amari replied, “If there are any memories embedded, I’ll connect you to Nick and they will play out in the Memory Loungers as though they were your own.”

     “Alright,” Nora said, settling into the lounge, “Just so long as you don’t accidentally show me anything _personal_ of Nick’s.”

     “Too bad being a smart ass isn’t getting us any closer to finding your son.”

     Nora smirked at Nick and sat back, eyes closed.  Her heart raced and she tried desperately not to think of being placed in the cryo-pod as the Lounger’s glass top came down over her.

     “Just relax,” Dr. Amari said, “The connection will begin very soon.”

     Nora squeezed her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms, and forced herself to breathe normally. 

     _One step closer.  One step closer to Shaun._

 

     People stumbling into the back alleys of Goodneighbor to puke wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, but it rarely happened in the middle of the afternoon and it was usually some shitfaced drifter, not the Vault girl he hadn’t seen in weeks as she came tearing out of the Memory Den as though it had caught fire.  He might not have even noticed if not for her dog, who nosed his way out seconds later with a whiny bark and trotted after her faithfully.

     A few citizens glanced in her direction and a couple whispers went up and down the street, but before a minute had passed, they lost interest and went back to themselves.  Hancock hesitated for a moment but as it had last time the Vaultie had appeared in his town, his curiosity got the best of him and he slipped down the alley after her.

     He found her sitting on the ground, back to an old dumpster and knees pulled up to her chest.  She was hiding her face in her hands and muttering to herself unintelligibly.  Her dog stood guardedly nearby, dark eyes watching him as he dodged a puddle of vomit and approached her.

     “Doing alright there, sister?”

     She didn’t answer or even seem to notice his presence.  He listened for a moment as she continued to mutter but couldn’t make out any of the words.  He was pretty sure she wasn’t high on something, but another explanation eluded him.  Most people came out of the Memory Den in a good mood, or at least calm, not running as though being chased by hellhounds.

     Hancock stepped closer and reached out to touch her arm.  Big mistake.  Her reflexes were impressive; she snatched his wrist with one hand and whipped a switchblade out with the other, shoving it into his face as she looked up with hard gray eyes. 

     “Whoa, there, doll.  Not trying to hurt you.”

     She dropped his wrist almost immediately and shrank back, slipping her weapon back into her belt.  Her gaze softened and crumpled.

     “Shit, I’m sorry,” she said, “You kind of took me by surprise.”

     “No harm done,” Hancock replied, offering a hand. “Par for the course around here.”

     She took his proffered hand – without flinching at its Ghoulish grooves and scarring, he noted – and let him pull her back up.

     “You doing ok, doll?   Most people go into the Memory Den to have a good time.”

     “I’ll survive,” she replied, “I just needed a moment to lose my shit.  All better now.”

     Judging by the teary redness of her eyes and the fact that she’d spewed chunks, he didn’t totally believe her nonchalance, but didn’t say anything.

     “Nora? You alright, kid?”

     Nick Valentine came around the corner before Hancock could continue their conversation, concern etched into his hard features – or as etched as could be, given his synthetic visage.

     “Yeah,” Nora said, dusting herself off before straightening.  She was pretty damn good at rebounding – one moment a puking, blubbering mess on the ground, the next a smiling, straight-backed picture of self-control.

     “Did you hear any of what Dr. Amari was saying about Virgil?”

     “About…half?  I probably could use a recap.”

     Nick nodded and beckoned her to follow him.  She whistled for the dog before turning back to Hancock momentarily.

     “Thanks,” she said, “For pulling me back.  Sorry again about the switchblade.”

     With that, she was gone.  Hancock stood there for a moment, frowning to himself.  What had he pulled her back from? 


	15. Artistic Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock's got it bad for the Vault girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay. My computer had a spaz attack and deleted this chapter and I had already been having trouble writing it. Apparently I suck at flirting and that translates onto the page. Hope you enjoy anyway!

     Hancock stared out the window of the Old State House, watching the Vault girl.  She was talking to Nick near the front gate; after a minute, he squeezed her shoulder and turned to leave.  It was a very…brotherly gesture.

     “Am I being a creep?” he asked absently.

     Fahrenheit didn’t look up from the handgun she was lovingly polishing. “You’re always a creep.”

     “You’re always a bitch.”

     “Oh, I’m sorry.  Did I hurt your feelings?  Or is it just that time of the month again?”

     “Piss off,” Hancock replied, falling into his chair and fumbling for a lighter.  Fahrenheit smirked at him.

     “Vault girl got your goat again?”

     “Her name’s Nora.”

     “I don’t know what you find so interesting about her.”

     “What, are you jealous?” Hancock shot back, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “I never asked since you seemed to have such a committed, loving relationship with Kindness there, but we could always take a crack at each other.”

     Fahrenheit didn’t respond.  She cocked the small handgun, her modded pride and joy, and aimed it, pretending to tweak the sights.  Hancock didn’t fail to notice that she had it pointed directly at his crotch.

     “You should be paying more attention to other things instead of chasing tail,” she replied evenly, “Like this so-called heist No-Nose is planning.”

     “Isn’t that why I have you?” Hancock asked, “To watch my back?”

     “I’m not talking about just watching your back,” Fahrenheit said, setting Kindness aside. “Did you listen to me last night?”

     “Not even a little,” Hancock replied, standing and walking past her. “Maybe you should lecture me again.”

     “Real mature, John.”

     Hancock ignored her.  If the Vault girl hadn’t left with Nick, maybe he could find her in the Third Rail.

 

     Nora sat back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, a bottle of Bobrov’s Best in one hand.  It wasn’t as good as the Gwinnett Ale she and Nate always drank, but it did a decent job of flooding her bloodstream with a pleasant warmness that dulled the edge of her anxiety.  She really wanted to run away into a dark alley, huff a few canisters of Jet, and forgot about reliving her husband’s murder through the eyes of his murderer, but she managed to keep herself in check.  It hadn’t helped before and she had just woken up to an even bigger mess and a lot of wasted time.

     “Bobrov’s aint for the faint of liver, you know.”

     Nora saw Hancock settle himself in the seat next to her as she took another pull off her drink. 

     “I know my way around a bottle,” she replied, setting it down.

     “Is that right?”

     Nora smiled at him, a sweet, _I’m-humoring-you-you-idiot_ kind of smile. “Are you a pre-war Ghoul?”

     “Haven’t had the pleasure of being this good-looking for that long, no."  


    “Then I was playing drinking games before your great-grandfather was born.”

     There was a short silence between them as Hancock eyed her as though trying to decide if she was kidding or not.

     “So are _you_ the world’s best-looking prewar Ghoul, then?”

     “I’m not a Ghoul,” Nora replied and finished off her Bobrov’s, “I’m a lawyer from the year 2077 who was cryogenically frozen in Vault 111 until a few months ago.  If my math is right, I’ll be 241 years old in a few days.”

     Hancock continued to eye her, forehead wrinkled.  She guessed he’d be raising his eyebrows if he had any to raise.

     “You don’t look a day over 200.”

     Nora let out a snort of laughter. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

     “You can take that as me running my mouth,” Hancock replied, “Usually I’m better at talking to lovely ladies like yourself.”

     “Well, since neither of us has pulled a knife on someone, I’d say this is going better than most of our previous encounters,” Nora said, signaling Charlie for a second Bobrov’s. “Although I could go get my shotgun if that’s how you prefer to interact with the opposite sex.”

     “Not typically,” Hancock answered, “I like more…traditional methods.”

     He was pleased to see a faint flush to her cheeks even if she didn’t say anything.  She fidgeted with a leather cord around her neck – some sort of necklace, though the pendant was hidden under her shirt – and uncapped her drink.

     “Are you supposed to be dressed as the original John Hancock?”

     “History buff, huh?” Hancock asked, “Long story short, yes.  Took on the persona a few years ago, right before I took over this quaint little town.”

     “Any particular reason why?”

     “Nah, just always kind of felt a connection, you know?” Hancock replied, leaning back and lighting a cigarette. “Serious oppression and that sort of shit.  Goodneighbor was run by an ass of a mob boss named Vic for a long time.  Another reason I’m still glad you took out Skinny Malone.”

     Nora nodded. “I’m kind of amazed the clothes survived a nuclear apocalypse intact,” she said, “It always seems to be the strangest shit that did.”

     “Well, no one has the time to bother archeological relics when they’re dying of nuclear fallout, I’d imagine.”

     “Not that, I just mean…I kind of assumed everything would be leveled or burnt up.”

     Hancock glanced at her through the haze and cigarette smoke.  She was staring at her bottle with unfocused eyes, eyes that had gone dark with some unbidden, unwanted memory.

     “Shit,” he muttered after a moment, “You really _are_ prewar, aren’t you?  How?”

     Nora’s gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed in annoyance. “I wasn’t lying.  I was born in the year 2047 here in Boston.  When the bombs fell and the world went to shit, my husband and I took our son to shelter in Vault 111.  I recently found out Vault-Tec was doing a bunch of social experiments on the Vault Dwellers without their knowledge.  111 was studying the long-term effects of cryostasis on the human body.”

     “Well, it seems to have worked well.”

     “Minus the part where the Vault staff mutinied less than a year later and then died out.  Oh, and my husband was murdered and my son kidnapped.”

     She set her bottle down hard, earning a few sideways glances from the other patrons of the Third Rail, then stood and stalked away.  Hancock hesitated a moment and then pushed himself up to run after her.  She was quick; he caught up to her just as she was pushing through the double doors back onto the street.

     “Nora!” he called, grabbing at her arm. “Nora, I’m sorry, that was insensitive.  I told you, I run my mouth a lot.”

     She stopped and eyed him for a long minute before her expression softened. “It’s alright.  I’ve had a long day and I’m still a little wound up.”

     “Well, please, don’t walk away on my account,” Hancock replied, letting go of her arm.  She smiled at him and it was unsettling how such a small, kind thing made his stomach flop.  He was glad Fahrenheit wasn’t around; she would have _smelled_ his weakness and then he’d never live it down.

     “I should call it a night anyway,” Nora said, “After I, uh, go back and pay my bar tab.”

     “Consider it paid,” Hancock replied, “There are certain perks to being Mayor, after all.”

     Nora snorted and shook her head. “You politicians.  Thank you.”

     She turned and began to walk away.  Hancock’s eyes drifted down and he had just started to admire the view when she stopped and spun back around.

     “By the way, I made it up to Pickman Gallery.”

     “Oh, yeah?  What’s going on up there?”

     There was a minute of silence. “Well, let’s just say Pickman’s art won’t have a whole lot of resale value once all those Raider bodies start decomposing.”

     He shook his head.  It wasn’t the most twisted thing he’d heard of, but it was up there.  Top three, maybe, though far be it from him to judge someone on what turned their crank.

     “Well, they say all artistic inspiration is ephemeral.”


	16. Happy Birthday, Nora

     “How long has it been?”

     Nora looked up from her book.  MacCready’s face was shadowed in lantern light.  They had taken up on the top floor of the ruins of Boston Public Library where the smell of dead Super Mutant wasn’t as strong, bedrolls spread out and Dogmeat snoring contentedly in a corner.

     “Since what?”

     MacCready nodded at her chest.  Nora glanced down and her hand wandered up to the rings she wore on a leather cord.

     “You keep touching them,” he explained, “Hasn’t been that long since he died, has it?”

     “Um, technically about ten years,” Nora replied, “But it feels like just a few weeks most days.  How did you know?”

     “My wife, Lucy,” MacCready replied, “Lost her about three years ago.”

     “I’m sorry,” Nora said, her voice soft in the dark and silence. “Seems like everyone has lost someone.”

     “How did he go?”

     “He was murdered,” Nora said, pushing the rings back under her shirt.  She felt guilty for not wearing hers, but after getting it caught in a grenade pin, she had strung it onto the leather cord next to Nate’s. 

     MacCready was silent for a moment. “Ferals got Lucy.  We were trying to get back to Rivet City and bunked down in an old subway station for a night.”

     “Where’s Rivet City?”

     “Capital Wastes,” MacCready said, “Never heard of it?”

     “Capital?  Like D.C.?”

     MacCready stared at her blankly for a moment.  She sighed and waved hand dismissively.  Going through the song and dance of “I’m pre-war, got frozen for two hundred years” every time her age showed was getting really tiresome.  Eventually she’d swing back by Sanctuary Hills with her hired gun and just let Codsworth tell him.

     “You always carry a book around?”

     “Keeps me sane,” Nora replied, turning the page. “And I have a lot of respect for Old World culture.”

     “I figured that,” MacCready replied, “Hired me to help kill a bunch of fu-freaking Super Mutants so you could return a book.”

     “I did it for Daisy,” Nora shot back, “And I didn’t hear you complaining about the cut I gave you.”

     “Hey, I’d walk a hundred miles if I knew there was a pile of caps waiting at the end,” MacCready admitted with a shrug, “Just an observation.  Your gizmo’s beeping.”

     Nora glanced over at her Pip-Boy.  She’d left it sitting on top her knapsack after they settled down and now it had begun to buzz and beep erratically.  She flipped it on and turned to the radio, which had caught a new frequency – Military Frequency AF95.  Nora listened for a moment, turning the dials to tune it, but the message remained patchy and full of static.  Dogmeat’s ears twitched but he didn’t move from his spot.

     “Something about Cambridge?” MacCready guessed, brow furrowed as they listened. “That’s all I’m picking up.”

     “Probably a pre-war repeating message,” Nora muttered and tuned out.  She had picked up the old broadcasts all over the Commonwealth; distress signals and reminders of where military personnel could fall back for supplies and medical assistance.  The last one she had found broadcasted from an old checkpoint she recognized; she’d broken into the bunker and shut down the radio signal after brushing away cobwebs and a skeleton in faded green fatigues.  It was grimly satisfying to shut out the voices of the past and Sturges had appreciated the electrical salvage she’d brought back.

     “I’ll take first watch,” MacCready said, shouldering his rifle and standing. “Maybe take a look around in case we missed anything.”

     Nora grunted in acknowledgement and settled herself onto the bedroll, turning the lantern down to a tiny flicker.  Dogmeat huffed and scooted over, resting his head on her stomach.  She pillowed her head on one arm and shifted, trying to get comfortable.  Sleeping bags on ancient wooden floors had begun to do a number on her back and hips and she grumbled to herself for a few minutes before exhaustion claimed her.

 

     She was sitting in the backyard, slumped down in the patio chair, feet propped up on the other chair, fingers laced together over her burgeoning baby belly.  Nate had wanted to give her a big party – _It’s your thirtieth, sweetheart, that’s a milestone_ – but she’d managed to convince him that all she wanted was a quiet day at home and a nice dinner she didn’t have to cook herself.  At eight months pregnant, getting dressed up and having people over and worrying about faking a good mood until they left was too much.  So there she was, sunbathing in the back yard in her favorite sweatpants and one of Nate’s olive drab Army shirts.  _Perfect_.

     “Geez, aren’t you cold out here?”

     Nora lifted her head and smiled at Nate, who pulled up the last chair next to her while rubbing his arms for warmth. “Suck it up, G.I. Joe,” she teased, “Didn’t you just get back from _Alaska_?”

     “I had Power Armor the whole time,” he retorted, barely suppressing a shiver. “Steel plate and fusion energy keeps a guy warm.”

     “Raging hot flashes keep a lady warm,” Nora said, “Besides, it’s not that bad.  55, maybe.”

     “My microprocessor is going to freeze over,” Nate complained, “Come cuddle with me on the couch.  There’s a foot rub in it for you.”

     “Alright, you got me there,” Nora replied, patting Nate’s prosthetic knee. “Help me up.”

     He helped her settle onto the couch, legs draped across his lap as Codsworth pittered quietly in the kitchen.  Nora sank into the cushions, pressing a heel into her side to encourage Shaun to move off her kidney.  Nate rubbed a calloused thumb along her swollen ankle, the other hand resting on her shin.  It was warm and comfortable and she could feel the tension draining out of her muscles under Nate’s ministrations.

     “You need to wake up, sweetheart.”

    “Hmm?”

    “Wake up, Nora.”

 

     Nora jolted off her bedroll, dislodging Dogmeat, who gave her a grumpy huff in the darkness.  She fumbled for her Pip-Boy and checked the time, squinting blearily at it.  She had only been asleep for two hours.  The darkness was silent and heavy so she turned up the lantern until the circle of light spread enough that she could see to stand.

     “MacCready?”

     No answer.  Nora stepped gingerly over the merc’s bedroll and glanced around the corner of a rotting bookshelf.  A light flared in the darkness about twenty feet away and she caught the acrid smell of stale cigarettes.

     “MacCready,” she said, a little louder this time. “Kid.  I’ll take watch.”

     “Fine by me, Boss,” he said, finishing off his cigarette and tossing it down. “Nothing out there but a pack of mongrels.”

     Nora nodded and took MacCready’s place by a broken window.  Her 10mm sat heavily against her hip as she sat down and stretched her legs out along the extra-wide windowsill.  She could hear the dogs MacCready mentioned snuffling around in a dumpster underneath her and a radroach skittering in the walls.  As soon as it was light out they had a long march back west to another old military checkpoint she’d uncovered in pre-war records.  The chances of finding a working suit of Power Armor there was slim to nothing, but she had once followed a month-old scent trail looking for a mercenary who might have taken her son on the off-chance she could beat some information out of him.  At this stage, she’d take any chance she got.

     One of the mongrels growled and there were the sounds of a scuffle that ended in whimpering.  Nora sighed and stared off into the darkness, Nate’s voice as close as if he had whispered in her ear.

     _Happy Birthday, Nora._


	17. Power Armor and Paladins

     “Brotherhood of Steel.”

     “Who?”

     MacCready shot a look at Nora, shifting the scope on his rifle. “What, have you been living under a rock your whole life?”

     “You could say that,” Nora replied, “Who are they?”

     “Soldiers, zealots, people to avoid pissing off,” he replied, sitting back on his heels.  In the absence of a good pair of binoculars, they had been using his rifle scope to look down into the Cambridge Police Station compound from the roof of a nearby building.  The farther west they went, the clearer Military Frequency AF95 had gotten until Nora’s curiosity was piqued enough to take a short detour across the river to check it out.  The entire town stank of dead Feral and Raider, so they’d taken a rusted fire escape up to the top of a crumbling apartment building to escape it and detection by whoever had taken them all out.

     “How do you know it’s this Brotherhood?  And what’s so bad about them?”

     “I recognize their emblem,” MacCready replied, “And not many groups run around in Power Armor anymore.  They’re a military group that’s taken it on themselves to preserve Old World technology and prevent it from being used to destroy the world again.  In a nutshell.”

     “I can get behind that,” Nora said, leaning over MacCready’s shoulder to peer through the scope. “Although I’m hearing a big ‘but’.”

     “ _But_ they tend to put that mission above all else,” he continued, “Get in their way for any reason and you’ll regret it.”

     “You’ve dealt with them before?”

     “They’re big in the Capital Wastes,” MacCready said, “It’s a long story, but trust me, we’re better off avoiding them.”

     Nora didn’t answer right away, scanning the scene below her.  She could only see three of them – a clear leader in a full suit of Power Armor stomping along the perimeter and two others parked at the doors of the police station.  All were armed and the edges of the compound were littered with Feral bodies and piles of smoking ash.  She recognized the evidence of a laser weapon but couldn’t see what kind the soldiers were carrying.

     “I think one of them is injured,” she said, “We should see if they need a few Stimpaks, at least.”

     “We only have three of our own left,” MacCready replied with a distrustful frown, “Unless you’re holding out on me.”

     “I promised if you kept me alive out here that we’d split everything 50/50,” Nora answered with a dirty look, “I’m a woman of my word.  Either way, I really don’t like the idea of just leaving them here to get ripped apart by Ferals.”

     “Those suits of Power Armor can withstand a direct hit from a mini-nuke,” MacCready argued, “It’s not our business if they’ve misplaced a few.”

     “They’re impressive but they _cannot_ take mini-nukes directly,” Nora snapped, “I know that for a fact.  Stay here if you want but I’m going to help them.”

     She shoved his rifle back at him and stood, grabbing up her own weapons – a little 10mm and a basic shotgun – and slinging her pack over her shoulder.  She looked pissed off and upset about something but MacCready didn’t have time to contemplate what because she slung herself over the edge of the building and onto the fire ladder down to the ground.  He sighed and stood to follow her when an unmistakable screech echoed around the square.  _Ferals._

     The bastards were coming from the subway station, attracted by the scent and sound of living things.  MacCready dropped to a knee and shoved the rifle to his shoulder, trying not to panic as a pack of them lunged for Nora.  She was nimble and avoided getting crushed, taking out one with a few shots from her little handgun.  MacCready fired and took out another one, but they kept coming, stumbling around erratically as Nora shot into the pack.  Panicking, about to watch another woman get ripped apart in front of him, he jumped over the edge of the building and slid down the ladder.  He fell the last five feet but forced himself up and sprinted across the square on a twisted ankle.

     “Nora, on your left!”

     She turned just in time to twist away from the Feral as it threw itself towards her.  MacCready lifted his rifle and took off its leg.  Nora finished it with a quick headshot.

     “When I asked you to cover me, I didn’t mean you needed to throw yourself off a building,” she said in between heavy breaths, “Are you alright?”

     “I’ll live, just get behind those walls,” MacCready replied, trying not to crumple over in pain.

     She shook her head and grabbed his arm, draping it over her shoulders so they could stumble over to the police station.  A second pack of Ferals was close on their heels so Nora shoved him forward past the walls and reached for her shotgun.  She shot off two shells, taking out three Ferals in an explosion of blood and brain matter.  The Armor-clad Brotherhood member charged towards them, red lasers blasting around as he shouted platitudes to the wind.

     “Send them back to Hell!  For the Brotherhood!”

     “Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” MacCready retorted, trying to hobble towards Nora as the Brotherhood’s laser sailed dangerously close to her head.  She didn’t seem to notice, loading up her shotgun again and firing into the pack.  Bleeding heart that she tended to be, she had little regard for her own safety if someone else was in need.

     Between her shotgun and the Brotherhood soldier, putting down the last of the Ferals took five minutes.  When at last they stopped coming and the stench of burning flesh was overpowering, Nora slung her firearm over her back and offered a hand to MacCready.  He took it gratefully and they collapsed side by side on the steps of the police station.

     “Shit,” Nora muttered, examining herself.  She had splotches of blood on her shirt and a long tear in her jeans.  MacCready could see a gash in the flesh of her thigh that oozed blood onto the denim.

     “Better get one of those Stimpaks,” he warned, “That looks pretty bad.”

     “It’s not deep,” she replied dismissively, “I’ll clean and wrap it up in a minute.”

     They were interrupted by a suit of Power Armor looming over them and a mechanical voice.

     “We appreciate the assistance, civilian,” it said, “But what are you doing here?”

     “We’re pest exterminators,” MacCready rolled his eyes, “Got a Feral problem?”

     Nora shot him a look but he could see a hint of a smile behind it.  “We heard your distress call,” she said to the Brotherhood soldier, “Do you mind taking your helmet off?  I feel like I’m having a conversation with a tin can.”

     The soldier paused for a moment. “Very well.”

     Mechanical hands came up and released the helmet, revealing the scowling face of a dark-haired soldier.  He looked tired but put together, his short hair combed back neatly above heavy eyebrows and distrustful brown eyes. 

     “Who are you?  Are you from a local settlement?”

     Nora stood, back straight to face the soldier, despite being at least a foot and a half shorter while he remained in his Power Armor.

     “We’re just trying to survive out here,” she said, “Who are _you_?”

     The soldier’s scowl deepened. “Evading my questions is a sure-fire way to get yourself ejected from the compound,” he said, “If you want to remain here, I suggest you give me a straight answer.”

     “Evading _mine_ is a sure-fire way to find yourself shit out of luck,” Nora replied, her voice as even as if she were requesting a Bobrov’s from Whitechapel Charlie. “I told the truth, now it’s your turn.”

     The soldier looked her up and down and MacCready had to admire the big pair of brass ones she sported under his scrutiny.  There was a tense silence in which Nora and the soldier faced off and finally the soldier caved.

     “Fair point,” he said, “My apologies.  If I appear suspicious, it’s for good reason.  Ever since we arrived in the Commonwealth we’ve been under constant attack.”

     “Attack?” Nora repeated, gesturing at the dead Ferals. “That’s just the welcoming party.”

     The soldier looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take her seriously.  Nora rolled her eyes.

     “I’m Nora, and this is my friend MacCready,” she said, “What’s your name and where’s the rest of your army?”

     “I’m Paladin Danse,” the soldier replied, “These are the remaining members of my squad, Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys.”

     Scribe Haylen, a petite woman who looked no older than MacCready, stood from her position attending to the Knight, who sported several large gashes along his abdomen, and spoke up.

     “Paladin, may I?”

     “Proceed.”

     “I’ve been trying to modify the radio tower on the roof but it isn’t strong enough,” she continued, “If you can find the Deep Range Transmitter at ArcJet, it may be enough to boost the signal.”

     “Let me guess, you’re trying to get in touch with that big blimp over at the airport?”

     Paladin Danse gave Nora a dirty look. “That _airship_ is our HQ in the Commonwealth,” he replied stiffly, “The Prydwen.  I lead my squad here ahead of her on reconnaissance.”

     “Well, I’d like to help you, Paladin --”

     “ _We_ would?” MacCready interjected, rubbing his throbbing ankle.

     “—but I don’t care for the secrecy,” Nora continued, ignoring him. “I know where ArcJet is but you’re going to be facing a lot worse than Ferals to get there.  If you can make it worth my while, I’ll help you get over there.”

     “I’m not interested in hiring mercenaries,” the Paladin replied with another scowl, “I’m sure I can find it on my own.”

     Nora shrugged. “Alright,” she said, “Good luck getting past the Raider gangs and the Super Mutants.  You’re losing light and the whole place is crawling with Synths, but I’m sure you can manage.  You were obviously good here until we stuck our fingers in and messed it all up with the Ferals.  Come on, MacCready.”

     Damned if she wasn’t good.  The sarcasm in her voice was barely perceptible, but obviously the Paladin caught on.

     “You’ve made your point,” he said, still scowling.  MacCready was beginning to think it was a permanent part of his facial features.

     “Excellent,” Nora replied, smiling brightly. “Then get everyone inside before more Ferals smell all this blood and come running.”

     She held a hand out to MacCready and then let out an ear-piercing whistle.  A dog barked nearby and the Paladin stiffened and lifted his laser rifle.

     “If you shoot Dogmeat, you’re going to have worse problems than a weak distress signal,” Nora said with a dark tone as the shepherd came trotting through the front gates of the compound as if he’d been waiting just out of sight the whole time.  He did that often, wandering off as they traveled and scavenged, then reappearing almost instantly when Nora whistled or when she called it quits for the night.  MacCready had begun to wonder if she and the fuzzball were connected on some higher plane.

     “Are you sure you want to get mixed up with these Brotherhood clowns?” he asked a few moments later as Nora helped him limp inside, “We don’t know if they’re trustworthy.”

     She gave him a smile and flopped down into a chair next to him. “Are you always so suspicious?  You asked me when I hired you how you knew you wouldn’t get a bullet in the back, and what did I say to you then?”

     MacCready didn’t answer and she gave him that “just trust me” look.  Easy for her to say when the only person depending on her was a dog.


	18. Better Than A Training Exercise

     “I doubt anything’s broken,” Scribe Haylen said, her thin fingers feeling gently along MacCready’s swollen ankle. “It should heal up fast with that Stimpak but I’d suggest staying off it for a day or two to be sure.”

     “Thanks,” he said, shifting uncomfortably.  The Scribe was softer and kinder than her commanding officer, with a gentle voice and unassuming demeanor that reminded him of Lucy.

     “Have you and Nora been out traveling long?”

     “About two weeks.”

     “Must be difficult out here, just the two of you.”

     MacCready glanced over at Nora.  She had set up her sleeping bag in a corner with Dogmeat collapsed in her lap as she rubbed his belly vigorously.

     “We manage.”

     “Well, I’m grateful for the assistance,” Haylen continued, lowering her voice. “I know Paladin Danse and Knight Rhys don’t seem all that thrilled that you’re here, but we’re desperate.  Can Nora really get Paladin Danse to ArcJet and back safely?”

     “She can do whatever she says she can,” MacCready replied, “She’s tougher than she looks.”

     Scribe Haylen followed his gaze over to Nora, who was busy baby-talking Dogmeat – _Who’s a good boy?  Who’s my fluffy raider killer? –_ and then looked back at MacCready with a smile.

     “Get some rest,” she said, “And thank you again for coming to our rescue.”

 

     Nora learned quickly to tune out Paladin Danse when he started in on a monologue; as such, she missed when he asked her about her combat experience the first time.  She was wiping grime off the stock of her shotgun, frowning at a deep gouge no doubt left by a synth when he repeated his question.

     “Nora?”

     Hearing her name caught her attention finally.  She jumped and her head shot up to meet the Paladin’s dark brown eyes.  They were sitting across from each other in an old office on the top floor of ArcJet, deemed an acceptable place to bunk for the night before returning to the Cambridge Police Station.

     “I’m sorry, I got distracted,” Nora lied, trying to smile. “What was your question?”

     “I was just curious where you learned to shoot,” Danse said, “You’ve got some rather remarkable combat skills for a civilian.”

     “Oh,” she answered, “A friend of mine leads a local militia.  He taught me most of what I know.”

     “I’m impressed,” Danse said, “Militias tend to be unorganized and undisciplined.  You’re anything but.”

     Nora smiled, accepting what was probably the closest she could get to a compliment from the stern Paladin.

     “How long have you been with the Brotherhood?”

     “A little over ten years.”

     “Most of your adult life, then?”

     “Yes.”

     Nora sighed internally.  She was starting to regret leaving MacCready behind with Dogmeat at the station in Cambridge.  Sure, he couldn’t walk faster than a hobble, but at least he reciprocated conversation.  She looked back down at the gouge in her shotgun and frowned, picking dirt out of it with her thumbnail.  It didn’t affect the function in any way but the cosmetic damage bothered her internal neat-freak.

     _Suppose I could just call it a trophy…_

     “Sandpaper,” Paladin Danse spoke up suddenly.

     “What?”

     “For the damage,” he clarified, “It doesn’t look too deep to benefit from a good sanding.  Epoxy should fill it in if so, but that can be hard to find these days.”

     “I’ll try that,” Nora replied, “Thanks.”

     There was a short pause before Danse continued. “Although you could just remove that stock completely and add a full one.  It would reduce the recoil significantly.”

     “That would be nice,” Nora answered, “I picked this up off a Raider a while back, hadn’t really bothered to do much besides cleaning it.”

     “The modifications are what make the weapon,” Danse answered, his face as somber as if he were imparting some deep wisdom. “If you take the time to make it your own, it’ll work better for you in the long run.”

     “I’ll remember that,” Nora replied, forcing another smile.  He sounded like Preston – _Take care of your gun and it’ll take care of you._ If Danse could avoid accidentally insulting militias and keep the proselytizing to a minimum, they might actually get along famously.

     She shifted and stretched her legs out in front of her.  Several somethings popped and she had to bite her tongue to avoid moaning out loud in satisfaction.  She glanced over at Danse to see if he noticed.  His dark eyes met hers and looked away quickly.  She thought she saw the barest tinge of red color his cheeks, though it was difficult to tell in the weak light, and she busied herself with putting away her shotgun and gear.  Looking at him was like looking into the past and seeing Nate again – tall, muscular, thick dark hair carefully groomed and beard trimmed neatly, a soldier’s posture and precision in movement.  Danse’s demeanor didn’t have the same warmth as Nate’s, but then again, she wasn’t in a thirteen-year relationship with this soldier.

     Nora realized she had started to stare and looked away, rifling through her pack for something – _anything_ – to occupy her mind and her hands.  She had left most of her belongings with MacCready, bringing only her two guns, spare ammo and water, and a little bit of food.  She didn’t have her book or even a burnt-up old magazine to flip through and the scrap in ArcJet had been almost worthless – no typewriters or hot plates to dismantle and strip for parts, no copper wire to gather up or aluminum cans to flatten and stack.  She rummaged around in her bag some more and came out with a bottle of whiskey.

     Alcohol.  That was the solution to unexplained restlessness, right?  Had to be better than Jet or Psycho, which she also had on her.

     “Care for some?”

     Danse looked up at the brown bottle she held out towards him. “I, uh, don’t really drink that much.”

     “Neither do I,” Nora lied, “But I figure we did good taking on six hundred synths today, why not toast to ourselves?”

     “It was more like _sixty_ synths.”

     “It was too damn many,” Nora replied.  She stood and strode over to the nearby conference table, snatching up a chipped water glass.  It was dusty but otherwise clean, so she poured two fingers of the whiskey and held it out to Danse.

     “You’re a big guy and you ate recently; it should go through your system quickly.”

     What the fuck was she doing?  The original plan had been to get just buzzed enough that she could pass out on the tattered couch and not dream until it was light enough for them to trek back to the police station, yet here she was cajoling Danse into drinking with her like the Bad Influence at a teenage house party.

     He gave her a small smile and took the cup.  She returned his smile and drank straight from the bottle, forcing herself not to stare at his muscular chest and the way his Brotherhood uniform accentuated it so nicely.

     She might have been better taking the Jet; the whiskey burned just as bad and settled in her stomach like a ball of lava.  It had none of the sweet pleasantness of Bobrov’s or Gwinnett.  All those people – Nate included – who had told her about the rich flavors of a well-aged whiskey were a bunch of damned liars.

     “I think this may be halfway to becoming turpentine,” Danse noted evenly, peering suspiciously at the brown bottle Nora held.

     “Yeah, I noticed,” she replied, stifling a cough. “Maybe I won’t pick up anymore alcohol off the street.”

     “Best to stick to the established merchants in the future,” Danse agreed.  She looked sideways at him and noted the amused smile tugging at his mouth.  Maybe the whiskey/turpentine had already leeched into her brain but damn was he the best-looking thing this side of the apocalypse.

     “Well, here’s to us either way,” she said, setting the bottle down and pushing it away.

     “Are you alright?” Danse asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.  A jolt of excitement shot through her, starting with his hand and ending somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach.  The ball of lava had simmered down, replaced by a nervous heat she hadn’t felt in…well, a really long time.

     _For fuck’s sake, woman, pull yourself together._

     “Nora?”

     She nodded quickly, her head swimming with alcohol and lust.  She looked up at Danse, meeting those dark eyes that stared into hers with hypnotizing intensity.  He hadn’t pulled his hand off her shoulder yet.  She drew a shaky breath and tried to think of some witty remark about how the whiskey scorched her tonsils, but the words didn’t want to come. 

     A voice at the back of her head started screaming at her when she looped an arm around Danse’s shoulders and pulled him forward to kiss her.  She had to stand on her tip-toes to do so, but he bent easily and met her lips without hesitating.  He brought both hands to her hips, pulling her close as he deepened the kiss.  Nora parted her lips slightly and let her tongue meet his, then moaned in pleasure as his erection pressed against her.  His hands drifted down over her backside and squeezed, then he was lifting her up and onto the table.

     The voice in her head was still screaming at her to stop, to back pedal as fast as she could, but she brushed it away as Danse reached for the zipper on her Vault suit.  It had been a long time, not even counting her time in cryostasis, and she was desperate for release.  She thought briefly of Nate and the evening in the park, of him pushing her down onto the picnic table under the stars on his last night of furlough.  Danse’s hands slid up under the shoulders of her suit, pushing the fabric back and exposing her skin to the warm air.  She unlooped her arms from around his neck and slid the suit off, pushing it down to her hips and leaning back onto the dusty table.

     Danse pressed eager kisses to her neck and chest, palming one breast and undoing his own zipper with the other hand.  Nora arched under his touch, eyes closed as she pictured the leafy maple trees overhead.  He continued kissing her, reaching around to undo the clasp on her bra.  He tore the fabric away and then grasped both breasts, brushing over her nipples gently before leaning in to enclose one with his mouth.  Nora moaned and grasped at his head, white-hot pleasure spiking through her and sending shivers down her spine.

     He pulled away from her breast and moved to the other, kissing and sucking with gentle insistence as Nora tried not to writhe underneath him.  She breathed heavily as he kissed down her torso towards her hips, then flinched as his lips brushed the long scar running between them.

     “It’s ok,” she panted when he looked up apologetically, “Cut nerves and they just feel strange sometimes…”

     He came back up and interrupted her ramble with a kiss, pulling her suit the rest of the way off until it lay in a heap on the floor.  Nora pulled him close and pushed his own suit aside, hands wandering over his muscled back and chest, dipping below his waistband.  He groaned and pressed against her, then broke the kiss to push her back onto the table again.

     “You are beautiful,” he muttered, grabbing her legs and spreading them, hands gripping the flesh possessively.  Nora closed her eyes and Nate’s face loomed before her again as Danse knelt and pressed kisses to her thighs, gradually moving closer to her center.  He pulled her underwear off in one swift motion and ran a finger along her, pressing inside gently as he kissed.  She shuddered and grasped the edges of the table, biting her lip hard as she thought of Nate pushing her skirt up as he whispered her name over and over.

     Danse kissed and licked, moving his finger inside her swiftly, poking all sorts of sensitive spots she had almost forgotten about.  Nora pushed against him, hips thrusting as she sought that much-needed pressure.  Without warning he pulled his head back and grabbed her hips, thrusting himself inside her.  She keened as he moved against her, rocking slow and shallow.  They were both panting and pushing, Danse gripping her thighs roughly as she wrapped them around his waist.

     “Don’t stop,” Nora moaned, grabbing his hands and bringing one back to her breast. “Faster.”

     Danse obeyed, quickening his pace as she lifted her hips up to meet his thrusting.  The pressure was building in her stomach as he reached down to press a thumb to her clit, rubbing the sensitive nub with just enough pressure to force a louder noise out of her.

     Nate, Nate, Nate.  It had been a hot night in June and she could smell the honeysuckle nearby. 

     She stuffed a fist to her mouth as he thrust against her harder, pressing himself as far inside her as possible, punctuating each movement with a low grunt.  Sweat pricked on her skin as he fucked her mercilessly, working all her sensitive areas at once and driving the breath from her lungs.  She squeezed him with her thighs, gripping his waist so tight her muscles twitched.  He let go of her breast to grab her thighs again, pulling her to him and slamming against her erratically as the pressure threatened to overwhelm her.

     She came with a strangled cry, arching and clutching the table under her as her muscles seized and the pressure exploded inside her.  She clutched Danse’s arms as he continued thrusting against her and came shortly after, groaning her name and then collapsing onto her.  She panted and struggled to catch her breath, dizzy from sex and alcohol and heat.

     “That was…better than a training exercise.”

     Nora pushed herself up on her elbows and smiled at Danse.  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

     He gave a breathless laugh and nodded, offering her a hand. “You are an amazing woman.”

 

     They fell asleep there on the floor as the lantern light burned out.  Nora stared into the darkness, Danse’s hand on her hip, and relished the warmth of his body against hers.  She closed her eyes and pictured Nate in their bed at home, asleep on his back as she curled into the crook of his arm.  He had always put off heat like a furnace, a boon on winter nights or when they fell asleep unclothed. 

     _I love you, Nora_.


	19. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora has a meltdown and MacCready comes up with a solution to her problems.

     MacCready was pretty sure that when Nora told him everything went “just fine” at ArcJet, she was leaving something out, though he wasn’t sure what.  It was still fairly early when she and Danse returned, Danse clanking behind her in his Power Armor as she threw out her arms for Dogmeat to jump at her joyfully.

     “Hello, boy!” she exclaimed, jutting her chin out for him to lick excitedly. “Did you miss me, fuzz-face?  Did you miss mama?  Did my big meat-head miss mama?”

     The meat-head had missed mama, driving him, Haylen, and Rhys insane with his whiny pacing after she left.  MacCready had tried to let him out of the station to roam around, thinking it would ease his nerves, but he had just planted himself in the doorway next to him and refused to move.  Nora had told him not leave MacCready’s side and apparently he took his orders literally, though it hadn’t made him any pleasanter to be around.

     “Ok, we did our good deed,” MacCready said, meeting Nora near the steps. “Can we head out now?”

     “I’m going to help Danse install the transmitter and then yes, we can go.  Did you get what Haylen promised us?”

     “Two fully-charged fusion cores,” MacCready responded, tugging on the strap of his bag. “You gonna tell me what you need these for?”

     “Later,” Nora replied, “I promise, I’ll be straight with you.  Just, let’s get out of here first.”

     “Hurry up, then.”

 

     Nora sat cross-legged on the roof of the police station, twisting bits of wire together to connect the transmitter to the generator, trying to think of something to say.  She glanced over at Danse and met his eyes again.  Her heart jumped into her throat.

     “Nora, listen,” he began and she swallowed hard in nervous anticipation, “I wanted to ask you…”

     “I don’t expect anything from you,” she interrupted, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she thought about what she was saying. “I was being kind of stupid and presumptuous.  I mean, I had fun, but please don’t think I want anything from you.  I understand we have to go our separate ways.”

     “Oh.”  The word dropped like a stone and an uncomfortable pause followed.  Nora stood and hooked the transmitter onto the old radio tower, fiddling with the wires longer than necessary to avoid looking at or talking to Danse.  She wasn’t sure what she felt now or what she’d been feeling the night before, besides an intense, aching loneliness.  She wasn’t sure what she had been feeling last night or what she felt now, besides an intense, aching loneliness.  She needed more distractions, better ones that occupied more of her time, and she needed to be away from Paladin Danse and his ridiculous resemblance to Nate.

     “That should do it,” she said, sighing and letting go of the transmitter. “Why don’t you give it a go?”  


     Danse nodded and twirled the tuner on the radio.  He was avoiding looking at her.

     “Prydwen, this is Recon Team Gladius.  Over.”

     The radio crackled with static and Danse fiddled with the tuner again.  After a moment, the static died and a stern voice responded.

     “Recon Team Gladius, this is Prydwen.  Please give us your position.  Over.”

     “Looks like you’re golden now.”

     Danse met her eyes for a moment and then nodded curtly. “I appreciate your assistance.  If you ever feel inclined to join the Brotherhood, I would be happy to sponsor your initiation.”

     “I’ll consider it,” Nora lied, trying to smile at him before she headed back downstairs to MacCready and Dogmeat. “If you’re ever in this kind of position again, fall back to Sanctuary Hills.  It’s about a day’s walk northwest of here and it’s what I call home.  We can help with supplies and getting you back to your airship.”

     “Thank you,” Danse replied.  He didn’t meet her eyes.  Nora hesitated for a moment and then turned to leave.  Was that _disappointment_ she saw in his face?

 

     MacCready nearly jumped out of his skin when Nora shoved open the door of the old armory and let fall a loud f-bomb.  She had set a punishing pace marching from Cambridge out to the abandoned military installation, getting them there before night fell.  The place had been infested with Ferals and radroaches and she’d taken a fall off a pair of rickety steel stairs that collapsed halfway down, but she hadn’t slowed.  MacCready was doing his damnedest to cover her as she had paid him to, but it was very difficult when she started charging head-long into danger without thinking about the consequences.  She set off all sorts of traps along the way and it was just a miracle she hadn’t lost her legs or her life.

     “Stupid fucking scavvers!” she shouted, picking up a wrench off a nearby work table and throwing it.  It sailed through a glass security door, sending shards flying.  Dogmeat cowered and let out a low whimper as his mistress swore again, this time kicking the busted frame of the door with his steel-capped boot.

     “Nora, what the he – what are you doing?”

     “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” she shouted, rounding on him.  He had never seen her so angry before.  A long cut on her collarbone was bleeding into her tank top, no doubt from the flying glass.  Her face was red and flyaway hairs had come loose from her braid, standing up in all directions, and she had pulled her handgun from its holster.  MacCready took a step back, worried that she planned to kick and/or shoot him next.

     “Are you alright?”

     “No, I’m not fucking alright!” she bellowed, gripping her hair in one balled fist. “This is the third military installation we’ve been to and NONE of them have had a suit of Power Armor!  It’s been weeks and I’m running out of time to find my son!”

      With that, she collapsed onto the floor and began sobbing.  Her handgun clattered to the floor and Dogmeat scooted towards her, his head down, and nudged her gently with his nose.  She ignored him and let out a choked sob into her hands.  MacCready stood there, bewildered at this sudden turn of events.  He hadn’t ever asked her what she was looking for or why she needed it – questions were for friends, not hired guns, and she hadn’t even bothered to haggle with him when he named his price.  For the money she paid him and her upheld promise to split their loot down the middle, he could stand to not know what she was doing exactly.

     “Your son?”

     Nora looked up at him, her breath hitching.  Tears streamed down her face from swollen gray eyes and her nose was starting to drip.  It wasn’t a good look for her.

     “My son was kidnapped ten years ago,” she said, “The people who murdered my husband took him to the Institute.  I need to find a former Institute scientist in the Glowing Sea and to get through the Glowing Sea, I need a suit of Power Armor.  At this rate, I’m going to have to join the Brotherhood of Jackasses and wait another decade to get promoted before I can get a suit.”

     MacCready swallowed hard. “Nora, why didn’t you just buy that frame from K-L-E-0?  I’m sure you could find someone to fix it up for you…”

     “Do you know how much she wanted for that piece of shit?” Nora wailed, “Five-fucking-thousand caps!  I barely scraped enough together to hire you.  I don’t have that kind of money and it’ll take ages to scrape it all together.  I figured if I hired you, I could just requisition one from these old military installations while you covered me because I’m a soft, stupid prewar housewife and I can’t go ten feet outside a settlement without getting shot at.  I even have my husband’s old military ID to get through these security systems…”

     MacCready was thoroughly confused now.  He sat down cautiously across from Nora as she continued her rant, glancing down at a little piece of plastic she dropped on the ground along with her Pip-Boy.  He had never seen anything like it – it was some kind of identification, with raised lettering and a black band with a string of numbers below it.  In the corner was a square photo of a man’s face, a clean-shaven man with combed-back hair and soft brown eyes.  Beneath the photo was a faded imprint of a vaguely-familiar flag and the designation _Wilson, Nathaniel J., 1-LT, United States Army._

     “Army?” MacCready asked, “Nora, this is pre-war, how can he be…?”

     “Vault 111 was a cryogenics facility.  We were put on ice for 210 years.”

     “So you’re…200-plus years old?”

     “241,” she said, “Technically.  I was thirty when the bombs hit.  My husband had recently retired and I was a lawyer on maternity leave.  Somehow, they took our son and they shot Nate when he tried to fight them.  It’s been ten years since then.  I lost nine years because they put me back in stasis after they took Shaun.”

     MacCready sat in a slightly stunned silence as all the puzzle pieces clicked together in his mind.  He knew Nora was different – she was too nice to be a wastelander, too put together, and too healthy, but she didn’t have that skittishness around non-feral Ghouls and types like himself to be the average Vault Dweller.  She had an idealistic nature and a big heart that could only be nurtured in a world where people didn’t get into knife fights over food scraps.

     “That’s why you needed the fusion cores,” he said after a few minutes of silence.  Nora sniffled loudly and nodded, lifting the hem of her shirt to wipe her face.  MacCready handed her the old military identification, which she slipped into the pocket of her jeans.

     “I don’t even know if this guy I need to talk to is in the Glowing Sea,” she said, “But it’s the best lead I’ve got.  And no, I’m not asking you to follow me in there.  I just needed help getting the equipment.”

     MacCready sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Do you know where Dunwich Borers is?”

     “I think I’ve heard of it,” Nora said, “I have my Minutemen protecting a few settlements nearby, if I’m thinking of the right place.”

     “The last time I was in the area, with the Gunners, there was a Raider gang hanging out there,” MacCready continued, “Their leader is this old bi- this woman named Jenna.  She has a suit of Power Armor.”

     Nora eyed him hopefully. “You’re sure?”

     “Yes,” MacCready said, “As long as they’re still there, I say we go requisition it and clear out some ass- some idiots.”

     “Kid, you can swear around me,” Nora said with a smile, “Obviously, I have no problem with it.”

     “It’s not that,” MacCready replied, “It’s a promise I made, a while back.  To clean up my act.”

     “That’s…noble of you,” Nora said, “My husband was always after me about my mouth, too.”

     MacCready smiled at her, a real smile for the first time since they had left Goodneighbor.  Nora drew in a shaky breath and raked her hair out of her face.  She looked a little more in control of herself now.

     “I like your plan,” she said, “But we need to resupply.  Care to swing by Sanctuary Hills with me?  It’s pretty much directly north of here, shouldn’t take us but a day or so to walk there.  Real beds and hot food and all that great stuff.”

     “Sounds good to me,” MacCready replied, “Bunk here tonight?”

     Nora nodded. “I need to go out and find Dogmeat,” she said, “There’s food in my pack; feel free to rummage around.”

     “Be careful,” MacCready said, “You’ve set off like, thirteen traps today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first play-through of Fallout 4, Preston sent me to Dunwich Borers to clear out that Raider gang and the bitch in the Power Armor was SO hard to kill. I spent like an hour taking pot-shots at her from behind various rocks before she finally died. I'm looking forward to having this version of Nora take her out and steal her shit.
> 
> Also, you readers who have been commenting are absolutely amazing. If I could huff your words and get high off them, I would. I feel like Dogmeat -- who's a good writer? who's got awesome skills? Me, me, it's me, I know it's me omg I love you I'm a good writer I'm a good writer...


	20. Optimism For Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He was wearing his Power Armor when it happened.”
> 
> MacCready nearly fell off the chair, his heart jumping into his throat. Nora had woken and was watching him. The blood rushed to his face as he closed the album and set it on the table.
> 
> “Nora, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to --”
> 
> “Kid, relax,” she said, waving a hand before yawning widely. “You’re not trespassing on sacred ground or anything. They’re just photos.”

      MacCready tried not to gape as Nora lead him across a footbridge into Sanctuary Hills.  As Commonwealth settlements went, it was pretty impressive – twice as large as Goodneighbor and much cleaner, but without the overcrowded pretentiousness of Diamond City.  An entire neighborhood of pre-war houses had been cleaned out and rehabbed, the footbridge looked newly repaired, there was a thriving garden and multiple water pumps, and even three machine gun turrets placed in strategic locations along the roofs.  Several people waved to Nora – humans and a few Ghouls, he noticed – and Nora waved back with enthusiasm.

     “Is this where you lived before the war?”

     Nora nodded. “Yeah, that house right there,” she said, jerking her head to indicate the one directly behind them.  “Hey, Marcy, have you seen Sturges?”

     “I’m not his babysitter,” Marcy replied, scowling at Nora from her chair nearby. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere tinkering with some useless junk.”

     Nora responded with a tight smile and lead MacCready over to the house she’d indicated was hers.  Dogmeat slipped past her through the door and hopped onto a patched sofa, flopping down with his tongue lolling.

     “Make yourself comfortable,” Nora said, dropping her bag on an old table. “I’m going to find Sturges.”

     “Right here,” a deep voice replied and a dark-haired man poked his head around the corner of the hallway, “Hope you don’t mind me in here.  I was just looking to see what kind of electrical wiring had survived here.”

      “Are we ready to get the generators set up?” Nora asked, her eyes widening hopefully. “I would kill for a reading lamp.”

     “Close,” Sturges said, “Depends on what kind of goodies you brought me.”

     “Not a whole lot, I’m afraid,” Nora said, “Didn’t get much of a chance to scavenge this time.  Oh, Sturges this is MacCready; MacCready, this is our resident handyman, Sturges.” 

     “Pleasure,” Sturges said, holding out one grease-stained hand.  MacCready shook it and nodded in acknowledgement, wondering if Nora had purposefully not mentioned that he was a hired gun.  Most people eyed him with dislike and suspicion on hearing that, so he didn’t blame her if so.

     Nora left him sitting awkwardly in her living room with Dogmeat while she followed Sturges through the rest of the house, bantering with him as he updated her on the settlement’s comings and goings.  He spoke to her like she was the one in charge of making decisions, once teasingly calling her General before the conversation began devolving into gossip.

     “Preston takes his time getting back from Abernathy, but usually he’s here before it gets dark.”

     “Of course he takes his time; he’s got a thing for Blake’s daughter, what’s her name…Lucy.”

     “Are we talking about the same Preston?  He’s wound so tight he wouldn’t notice a woman if she gave him a private peep show.”

     “I’ll eat my Minuteman hat if they aren’t together before the end of May.”

     “Oh, come on.”

     “Cross my heart,” Nora replied, emerging from the old bathroom with a smug smile. “You should go with him over there sometime and see the looks they give each other.”

     “I’ll hold you to that.”

     “I’ll have Codsworth keep track.  June 1st and they aren’t together, I eat my hat.  If they are, you have to dig me a new well out back.”

     They shook on it before Sturges left, waving once at MacCready.  Nora collapsed onto the armchair in a puff of dust.  Silence fell between them for a moment.

     “General of the Minutemen?”

     She lifted her head off the back of the chair and gave him a wan smile. “Doesn’t involve much at the moment except helping the odd settlement here and there…but I rather like the title.”

     “It suits you,” MacCready agreed with a smirk, “Got me at your back, can’t be doing too bad with a bunch of loyal Minutemen, too.”

     “I have Preston and three young guys over by the coast, but yeah, they are at least loyal.”

     MacCready glanced out the front window.  Sanctuary Hills wasn’t just some run-down farm struggling to survive.  It was, quite obviously, a home.  The sort of place he wished he’d found before losing Lucy and leaving Duncan behind.

 

     It felt strange not needing to divide up watch duty, but MacCready was grateful for having a bed to crash into at the end of the night.  He was still getting back into the habit of walking constantly and he fell asleep with his face against the clean-smelling mattress almost instantly.

     It was several hours later when a small _thud_ broke the gentle silence.  MacCready jumped up from the bed, grabbing for his rifle instinctively and padding into the dark hall of Nora’s house.  There was no one around except Dogmeat, stretched out across her bed possessively.  He peered into the darkness and saw Nora stretched out on the couch, a lantern on the side table burning low.  Some sort of large book was lying upside down on the floor; it looked like she had fallen asleep with it on her lap.  It falling to the floor must have been the noise he heard.

     He sighed and put his rifle down, leaning it against the wall before tiptoeing out to her.  She looked comfortable lying there, her head pillowed on one arm and legs stretched over the armrest.  He bent down to pick up the book before the pages bent; he knew she was protective of her reading material.

     This wasn’t a regular book; it was extra-large and heavy, bound in cracked leather and stamped with the word _Memories_ across the front cover.  Curious, he flipped it open and glanced across the pages in pity and surprise.  It was a photo album, full of color pictures neatly pasted in place alongside various bits of paper and ribbons and other mementos that must have meant something to her.  It had held up remarkably well over two centuries, probably stashed in the floor safe he’d seen her get into earlier.

     It was hard to believe the woman he saw in the pictures was the Nora asleep on the couch in front of him, the same one he had seen blasting apart Ferals and stomping radroaches with steel-toed boots.  The Nora in the photos was obviously happy, a little larger and softer than now, often in the company of the dark-haired man on that military ID she’d said belonged to her husband.  He sat quietly in the armchair and flipped through the photos, knowing he was probably invading her privacy but unable to contain his curiosity.

     There was Nora sitting alone on a beach, knees to her chest with a large grin under an even larger sun hat.  Nora and her husband sitting on the hood of a car, standing side-by-side wearing billowy black dresses and square hats while they held up engraved plaques for the photographer, embracing each other in a garden overflowing with greenery and flowers.  There was Nora standing on the steps of a church in a white gown that fell just past her knees, clutching a bouquet of purple flowers and resting her head on her husband’s shoulder as he looked at her with loving reverence.  There was a small rectangle of stiff paper pasted onto the opposite page, filled with lines of swirly silver script – _James and Ellen Wilson request the honor of your presence at the wedding of their son, Nathaniel James, to Honoria Renee Benedict…_

     MacCready continued flipping through the photos, wondering what story there was behind each one.  The Nora he saw there still had the same bright gray eyes and vivid auburn hair, the same soft oval face and bright smile, but the Nora he knew almost never seemed as happy and carefree as the one in the photos.  Even in photos taken at her husband’s bedside in some sterile hospital room, or taken with him sitting in a wheelchair, missing most of one leg, she seemed undeniably happy. 

     “He was wearing his Power Armor when it happened.”

     MacCready nearly fell off the chair, his heart jumping into his throat.  Nora had woken and was watching him.  The blood rushed to his face as he closed the album and set it on the table.

     “Nora, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to --”

     “Kid, relax,” she said, waving a hand before yawning widely. “You’re not trespassing on sacred ground or anything.  They’re just photos.”

     “It fell off your lap.  I picked it up because I didn’t want the pages to bend and I couldn’t really help peeking…”

     “Relax,” she repeated and sat up, “Really.  No harm, no foul.”

     MacCready nodded and silence fell between them for a moment. “Is that what you meant when you said those Power Armor suits couldn’t withstand a direct hit from a mini nuke?”

     Nora nodded, her face going dark for a minute. “Nate got hit,” she said, “He was a field medic and he went back for one of his guys who didn’t have a suit and had fallen behind.  Guy was bleeding out and I’m pretty sure he didn’t make it anyway, but just after Nate got him airlifted out, that stupid robot they had – Liberty whatever – shot a nuke into the field.  It landed next to Nate’s right leg before it exploded.  The Power Armor saved his vital organs but he lost that leg above the knee.”

     “That sucks.”

     Nora shrugged. “It was actually a blessing in disguise,” she said, “He was immediately retired and sent home to recuperate.  He was here when I gave birth to Shaun.  We got almost a whole year together at home before we went into the Vault.”

     MacCready gave her a weak smile. “How do you always manage to be optimistic?”

     “If I didn’t look at things in the best light possible, I wouldn’t survive this Wasteland.”

     MacCready nodded and Nora stood, grabbing the album and placing it carefully back into the floor safe underneath the table.  Dogmeat wandered in, staring at her expectantly like a spouse wanting her to return to bed.  She patted his head and stretched her arms above her head.

     “Go back to bed, kid.”

     “I will,” MacCready replied, “First, though…can I ask you for a favor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played through the game a second time recently to see the BoS ending, and I hated Liberty Prime so much. Having to escort him from the airport all the way to CIT was enough of a pain in the ass, but then every time so much as a molerat wandered into our path, he started shooting off mini nukes in every direction and kept killing me. Had to quicksave every friggin' block. I figure maybe his aim and enthusiasm were always about the same and if Nate accidentally got in front of him to save a fallen comrade, there's his reason for being a "war hero" and retired.


	21. Chems and Moonshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nora, you need to stop mixing chems and moonshine.”

     Nora had been much more amenable to his idea than MacCready expected; she even led the charge along the Mass Pike Interchange, happily tossing grenades and emptying shotgun shells into Winlock and Barnes’s Gunner group.  Although he’d told her it could wait until she’d found the Power Armor she wanted, she insisted on taking care of them first.

     “I spent four years watching scumbags slip away from justice,” she told him later that evening as they patched each other up, “I was a good lawyer and I put a lot of people away, but now I’ve got a chance to make some real changes for the better.”

     “Optimistic _and_ heroic,” MacCready replied, flexing his shoulder.  A large-caliber bullet had grazed him and left a gaping wound behind, but Nora’s ministrations had helped ease the pain to a dull ache.

     “Hardly,” she answered drily, wiping her bandage scissors off with a cloth dipped in vodka.  She kept an impressive stash of supplies and Med-X in a bright yellow chem box, alongside her ever-present bottle of Bobrov’s and the occasional inhaler of Jet.  Thinking about Nora high and/or drunk while they were out on the open road made him uneasy, but she hadn’t let him down yet.

     “Well, thanks,” he said, “I feel a lot better having those idiots taken care of.”

 

     Nora and MacCready waited almost a full day before making a move on the Raiders at Dunwich, hiding underneath a rusted out dump truck long abandoned within surveillance distance.  There were nearly twice as many Raiders as MacCready had estimated, but Nora quelled her frustration.  One of them wore an almost-complete suit of Power Armor and getting her hands on it was all that mattered.

     “We should take out those turrets first,” MacCready said, handing her his newly-scavenged binoculars. “Humans have to stop to aim and reload but those things can just keep going.”

     Nora hummed in agreement.  There were four of them, strategically placed along the outer edges of the quarry from the topmost level all the way to the bottom.  These Raiders were smart.

     “Can you take them out from here?”

     MacCready took back the binoculars and peered through them for a moment. “One.  Maybe that second one over there.  If you distract them afterwards I can move position and take out the other two.”

     “Sounds like a plan,” Nora replied, shifting position so she could unclip her 10mm from its holster. “Take this in case one of them finds you.  Better close-range accuracy than that rifle.”

     “I can manage,” MacCready argued, his pride wounded.

     “Shut up and take it,” she answered, “If you lose it or break it, I’ll take it out of your ass and if you get yourself killed, I’m leaving you for the radroaches.”

     MacCready smirked at her and she wiggled out from under the truck, crouching out of sight behind a giant tire.  He moved forward a few inches, lining up his rifle and peering through his scope.  The first shot should be easy pickings.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nora give the signal, and he drew in a short breath.

     _Hold a second.  Steady.  Squeeze…_

The rifle jerked back into his shoulder as the shot rang out.  It echoed through the quarry and his ears rang uncomfortably.  He was starting the think he wouldn’t make it to thirty with his hearing intact. 

     Nora darted forward out of cover as the turret exploded in a shower of sparks and electrical components.  MacCready scrambled forward, hurrying to line up the shot and take out the second turret.  Already, the Raiders were amassing in the direction of the shot, led by the woman in her Power Armor.  Nora lobbed a grenade in their direction, letting it bounce off the rock walls before it exploded mid-air.  MacCready waited for her to load her shotgun, then he took a shot and killed the second turret.  He rolled out from under the truck and ran in the opposite direction, searching for a spot to pick off the last two. 

     He was just lining up the third shot when he heard a loud scream, a familiar one.  Turret forgotten, he searched wildly for Nora.  She was a hundred yards away, sprawled on her back, shotgun out of reach.  Scarlet blood soaked the ground beneath her and the Raider in the Power Armor was sprinting up the walkway towards her.

     MacCready took off towards Nora as bullets peppered the ground behind him.  His heart raced and he was almost certain that he wouldn’t make it to her before the Raider did, but he was sure as hell going to try.  A few weeks ago he might have left her for dead, but this wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill employer.  This was Nora and if he didn’t have her back like she’d had his, he might as well eat the gun she’d given him.

     Amazingly, he was able to reach her just steps ahead of the Raider, snatching up her shotgun and pumping the trigger twice.  He hit the Raider in the leg and she crumpled, bits of metal splintering and falling from the armor frame.  Nora lifted herself and tried to scramble back, but she’d taken the hit in the shoulder and could barely move.  MacCready fumbled to reload the shotgun, ducking as the Raider took more shots at him.

     “Shit!” the Raider yelled when her gun clip clicked.  She tossed it aside and stood; MacCready stepped back and fired two more shots.  The Raider froze and fell back, the chest plate of her Power Armor sporting several gaping bullet holes.

     “You couldn’t leave it at least partially intact?!” Nora screeched at him, dragging herself backward toward the cover of the rocks.  There were more Raiders at the bottom of the quarry still shooting at them.

     “Excuse me for saving your life,” MacCready shot back, grabbing her good arm and hauling her up. “Do you have any more grenades?”

     “In my bag,” she ground out, wincing as they collapsed together behind cover.  MacCready reached for the leather bag at her hip, trying not to wince at the sticky blood covering it.  Inside was a pair of Stimpaks, three frag grenades, and an extra handful of shotgun shells.  MacCready grabbed a Stimpak and handed it to Nora, then scooped out the grenades.

     “I’m going to pick them off,” he said, “Don’t move.”

     “Wasn’t planning on it,” Nora replied, breathing heavily as she stabbed the Stimpak into her bloody shoulder. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

     It took less time than MacCready had anticipated to get rid of the remaining Raiders and turrets.  By the time he was able to sit and breathe for a moment, Nora had staunched the bleeding in her arm and hauled herself out of hiding to join him.

     “All in a day’s work, right?”

     MacCready let out a huff of air and wiped sweat from his face.  His heart was still racing and his hands shook.  He gripped his rifle, hoping Nora wouldn’t notice.

     “You need to get back to the Slog and let Wiseman patch you up,” he said, “That looks pretty bad.”

     “My collarbone is intact,” Nora said.  Holding the injured arm to her chest, she knelt down to inspect the Raider in Power Armor.

     “Help me get this bitch outta here,” she said, “The frame and right side are still good.”

     MacCready shook his head in exasperation.  Impatient as always.

 

     Within a few hours, Wiseman and his workers at the Slog had Nora cleaned up, bandaged, and the both of them fed.  She’d been given an extra Stimpak and a large dose of Med-X after Wiseman dug the .38 out of her shoulder and after downing her bottle of Bobrov’s, she had refused to sit down and instead taken to inspecting her new Power Armor.

     “Uh, should you be doing that?”

     Nora ignored him and tossed aside her arm sling before stepping into the armor.  It closed up around her, helmet and all, and she took a few tentative steps forward.

     “Hey, Mac, who am I?”

     “Uh…”

     She lifted her 10mm with her good arm and turned on him, taking a stiff, exaggerated step.

     “Dead or alive, you’re coming with me,” she said in a deep voice before taking another step forward.

     “Nora, are you high?”

     She paused for a second. “Damn, I forget I’m so much older than everyone,” she said in her normal voice, “It’s from this old movie.  My grandpa was a collector and he used to show me all his favorites from when he was a kid and stuff.  Daisy might get it.”

     “Get what?”

     She turned and pointed the gun at Dogmeat, who tilted his head quizzically, and then mimed shooting at him. “Your move, creep.”

     “Nora, you need to stop mixing chems and moonshine.”

     “I’m General Nora of the Minutemen,” she replied in her deep character voice, “And now Robocop.”

     “Robo-who?”

     “Does Detroit still exist?”

     MacCready was about to answer when she started giggling stupidly and dropped her gun.  It clattered across the cement, no doubt scratched all to hell now, but she didn’t seem to notice.  She was _definitely_ high.

     “You’re going to run down the fusion core playing around like that.”

     “Damn, you’re right,” she said somberly, then stepped out of the armor with a hiss. “Mac, do you know how much closer I am to getting Shaun back?”

     “Very close.”

     Without warning, she threw one arm around him in a hug and kissed his cheek. “You are such a good friend.  Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell what movie my husband was watching while I was writing? I had originally written this chapter to be creepier, what with the Lovecraftian Cthulhu nonsense inside Dunwich and the hallucinations and such, but it just didn't turn out right, so...you get Nora acting childish with Power Armor. Can't say I wouldn't be doing the same if I had some to dick around with.


	22. Molerat Jerky and Jet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Better get moving if you want to make it to the Castle before noon.”
> 
> Nora groaned. “I need coffee. An extra-large Slocum’s Joe, two cream and two sugar, with a raspberry jelly donut on the side. Hold all my calls until after ten.”
> 
> Hancock was silent for a moment. “I’ve got molerat jerky and Jet.”

 

     It was weeks before Hancock caught up with Nora the Vault Dweller again.  He had heard about her around town, knew she dropped in periodically to trade with KL-E-0 and Daisy, but it seemed she was always gone before he could wiggle away from mayoral duties to do more than catch a glimpse of her blue-clad backside vanishing through the city gates.  She always had her mutt with her and usually some other companion – for a long time it was that young mercenary, MacCready, then that loudmouth reporter from Diamond City; once she dropped in with a semi-civilized Super Mutant that had apparently threatened to eat several of his constituents before he and Nora were gone again.

     It was almost three months after the night he’d accidentally insulted her in the Third Rail when she showed up again.  He had been stewing most of the day, kicking aimlessly around the Old State House in a foul mood before stalking down into the haze of cigarette smoke and tinny laughter with every intention of getting as high as necessary to forget his troubles.  Even though they hadn’t spoken in ages, Nora’s lamentation was fresher than ever in his mind -- _I was really hoping politics would die in the apocalypse._

     Fahrenheit had tried to warn him, tried to get him to do something, but he’d willfully ignored her.  And then his strong room had erupted in a blaze of bullets and fire and some ignorant drifter looking for a quick buck had done his dirty work and put down Bobbi No-Nose.  The fact that she’d had to be put down at all upset him more than he wanted to admit, without adding the insult of looking to some patsy to take care of his business.  He needed to get away from Goodneighbor and get a grip.

     “Hey, Hancock.”

     He glanced up from the empty Jet inhaler he’d been twiddling with to see her standing over him with a vague smile on her face.  He wondered briefly if she was aware of how well that blue suit accentuated her every curve.

     “Well if it isn’t my favorite Vaultie,” he said, “What brings you back to my fine town?”

     “Same old, same old,” she replied, settling into the ragged armchair next to him. “Been out and about in the Commonwealth, needed a break before I get to set out on my next great adventure.”

     “Where are you headed this time?”

     She was quiet for half a moment before answering. “The Glowing Sea.”

     Hancock wanted to laugh but he knew, based on their last encounter, that she probably wouldn’t take to that too kindly.

     “You got a death wish?”

     “No, just a bead on my missing son,” she replied, crossing one leg over the other.  Hancock followed the curve of her thigh momentarily before he caught himself and looked away. 

     “That’s pretty determined of you,” he noted evenly, still unsure whether or not she was taking him for a ride.  He’d talked to her before and heard all the rumors and read that article in _Publick Occurences_ – her sarcasm was almost legendary at that point.

     “Guess so,” she said, looking away briefly. “What about you?  Heard there was some more… _political strife_ around these parts.”

     Hancock scowled at the inhaler in his hand.

     “Not go your way?”

     “Nah, it did,” he said, sinking back into the couch. “Kind of the problem, you know?  This classy little tricorner hat of mine is gettin’ kind of heavy.”

     Nora nodded. “Well, Bobbi was just asking for someone to come along and put a bullet in her brain,” she said, “She wasn’t exactly innocent, but thank god she didn’t take anybody who was with her.”

     “What do you know about it?”

     “She tried to rope me and MacCready into her ‘rob Diamond City’ schemes,” Nora said, “But I’ve seen her type before and you can smell the deception a mile away.  Besides, I don’t like being underground and I _hate_ mirelurks.”

     “Guess I need to get out more,” Hancock replied, miffed at how blasé Nora seemed about something that had been eating away at him for days.

     “Come with me.”  
     Nora didn’t hesitate in extending her invitation.  Hancock looked up at her, almost suspicious, and met those gray eyes with trepidation.

     “Not a lot of people would travel with a Ghoul,” he said, “Even one with my kind of charisma.”

     Nora rolled her eyes. “I’ve been on the road with a Super Mutant for the last two weeks,” she said, “I couldn’t care less that you’re a Ghoul, so long as you understand that the milk of human kindness is just a metaphor.”

     “The milk of what?”

     “It’s a long story,” she said, “Look, tomorrow morning I’m off again.  Two pit stops heading south and then it’s into the Glowing Sea.  If you can get away from mayoral duties and want a few cool stories to tell when you get back, come with me.  If not, I’ll see you around.”

     With that, she left the Third Rail, leaving him sitting there in a confused stupor like she always did.

 

     The next day dawned bright and relentless, the sun rising cheerfully through a cloudless sky as Nora waited in trepidation for Hancock to finish addressing his public.  It was barely nine o’clock, according to her Pip-Boy, but already sweltering.  She had traded her vault suit for a more comfortable pair of jeans and a sleeveless shirt, but her newly-restocked bag hung heavy on her shoulders and made her back sweat uncomfortably.  Dogmeat sat at her feet panting heavily, occasionally shifting position with a whine and a glance towards the gates.  Nora ignored him and shifted her pack to rub at the scar on her shoulder.  It was still new, the skin pink and puckered just below her collarbone.  Wiseman had spent thirty minutes digging the slug out after shooting her full of painkillers and asking MacCready to hold her down; when Mac left for the Capital Wasteland, she had given him the dented little piece of brass for good luck.  A wooden soldier in her pocket, a spent .38 in his – she missed her young friend more than she had expected to when she convinced him to go home to his son.

     “So, you ready to get this show on the road?”  


     Nora jolted out of her reverie. “Ready as ever.”

 

     They made it all the way to the Mass Bay Medical Center before being accosted by any Commonwealth surprises.  Nora led the way through the ruins, skirting the known haunts of Super Mutants and Ferals with the expertise of a Commonwealth native, her faithful hound at her heels.  Just a block from the old hospital, they started seeing the unmistakable signs of a Raider gang – heads on totems, dropped drug paraphernalia, spent shotgun shells.  Nora stopped to rummage through a discarded ammo bag, muttering to herself and casting dark glances at the totems.

     “…so fucking gro – ahh!”

     She jumped back with a shriek as a glowing radroach skittered out of a pile of garbage and straight for her, feelers wiggling eagerly.  Dogmeat barked and snapped at it just before Hancock lifted his shotgun and smashed it with the stock.  Nora tripped and fell backwards onto the cracked pavement as neon guts went flying and the radroach’s legs twitched once before it died.

     “You alright there?” Hancock asked, trying to suppress a smirk.

     “I fucking hate those things,” she replied, shuddering and wiping some of the projected blood off her pant leg using the edge of the ammo bag.  Dogmeat licked some off her boot before she shooed him away with a gag.

     “Make a decent meal when you’re starving.”

     She looked at him as if he’d suggested she dine on human flesh. “I’ll stick with molerat, I think.”

     “Those things tend to carry diseases,” Hancock replied, still trying not to smirk at her.

     “And the giant-ass _radioactive roaches_ don’t?”

     He was about to reply but was interrupted by the unmistakable crack of a rifle firing.  The bullet slammed into the pavement just an inch from his foot; before he could process what was happening, Nora had thrown herself at him and they went down together behind an old trailer.  The Raider took another few shots at them and called to her friends for reinforcements.  Dogmeat took off towards them, snapping and growling, lithe enough to avoid catching a bullet.

     “I’d like to go one day without getting shot at,” Nora muttered, dropping two shells into her shotgun and snapping it closed.

     “Ah, but this is the fun part of daily life in the Commonwealth.”

     She smiled at him, that shy twitch of her lips that made his insides all warm like a giddy fucking teenager.

     “If this is your idea of fun, I’m glad you’re on my side.”

     For all her squeamish propensities towards radroaches, Nora was an excellent shot and seemed to have no problems pumping bullet after bullet into the Raiders.  She was quick, dodging in and out of cover and taking down three of them in short succession.  Hancock followed close behind, caught up in momentary awe when Nora jumped a sandbag wall and headed straight for a fourth Raider whom Dogmeat had pulled to the ground by the leg.  She lifted the shotgun and slammed it straight into the Raider’s face, the wood stock meeting bone with a loud crunch.  The Raider went limp and Nora stepped back, breathing heavily.

     Silence fell around them as Hancock watched her.  A triangle of sweat had soaked the front of her shirt, which was covered in a large splatter of blood, and her chest was heaving in a way he couldn’t deny only added to her good looks.

     “You handle yourself pretty well, sister, for being afraid of radroaches,” he said after a moment, leaning against a rusted car frame next to her.

     “I’m not afraid of radroaches,” she shot back, taking the water he offered and chugging it gratefully. “Are you alright?”

     “Never better,” Hancock answered, “Could use some Jet after that.”

     “I’m sure some of these clowns were carrying,” Nora said, “Usually are.  Care to see what’s indoors?”

 

     Clearing out the inside of Mass Bay took considerably longer; the old hospital was rife with more Raiders and much harder to navigate.  Nora seemed to be on a mission, barely stopping as she charged up floor after floor, emptying her shotgun over and until she ran out of shells.  At that point she switched to her little 10mm, then finally to a set of frag grenades she carried on her belt.

     After a few hours, they made it to the top of the crumbling building and the last of the Raiders.  Nora took him out with a rather impressive headshot, then pushed the body over the edge where most of the wall had rusted away. 

     “So, you got a personal stake in this place or something?” he asked a few minutes later, when Nora had flopped into the tattered remains of an old chair and begun wiping blood off her face.

     “Excuse me?”

     “Don’t get me wrong, I like killing Raiders as much as the next person, but taking on a full building of them just because seems…”

     “Crazy?” Nora finished, giving him a rueful smile.

     “No, just…you’d think those Raiders personally insulted you or something.”

     She gave a short laugh. “No, not really.  I, uh…this is where my husband and I met, back before the war.”

 

     Nora rushed up the stairs, huffing heavily and pushing past the throngs of people coming down off the last L-train. 

     “No, no, no, no, wait!”

     The doors slammed shut in her face and she heard the squeal of metal on metal as the train pulled away outside.

     “Dammit!”

     She resisted kicking the door and threw herself into a nearby chair, head in her hands.  Last train of the night heading south and she’d missed it _again_.

     “Need some help?”

     She looked up to the person standing in front of her, a dark-haired, bespectacled guy who looked about her age.  He was wearing an orderly’s gray scrubs and a volunteer patch on his chest.

     “Can you call the train back?” she asked sarcastically, shoulders slumped.

     “No, but I can give you a ride if you need.”

     She shook her head and sighed. “No, it’s alright.  I have to go all the way down to Quincy.  I can call someone.”  


     “I've got nowhere to be tonight. A ride’s no big deal.  Cross my heart I’m not a serial killer.”

     Nora hesitated a moment and then sighed again. “Alright.  What’s your name?”

     “Nate,” the teenager responded, “Yours?”

     “Call me Nora.”

      Ten minutes later, she was sitting in the passenger seat of Nate’s older model Corvega, wiping rain off her face as he pulled into the traffic snarl outside the hospital. 

     “What’s a healthy-looking girl like you doing at the hospital this late?”

     Nora glanced over at Nate and met his eyes once. “My mother’s there.  Chemotherapy.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     “It’s okay,” Nora replied, “It’s working, at least.  Where do you volunteer?”

     “Mostly moving patients from one place to the next,” Nate answered, “But basically I go whatever they need.  It’s for my senior paper.”

     “Mr. Aberdeen’s senior thesis course?”

     Nate looked over at her with an eyebrow raised quizzically. “How’d you know?”

     “I’m in his morning class,” Nora said, fingering the South Boston High pennant hanging from his rearview mirror. “I got sent to the library downtown.  I get to shelve books all day twice a week.”

     “How do you go to Southie if you live all the way down in Quincy?”

     “Quincy’s temporary,” she said, “I’ve been staying with my grandparents for a while.”

     The drive south went quicker than usual as Nate and Nora passed the time bantering and gossiping.  As Nate turned onto her street, Nora pointed to a modest teal house a block away.

     “Drop me there,” she said, “I live next door but Grandpa will give me the third degree if he sees I took a ride from a stranger.”

     “I’m not a stranger, I’m just a classmate.”

     “You’re a teenage boy,” Nora replied, “Evil of evils when you have a teenage granddaughter to protect.”

     Nate laughed and pulled the car to the sidewalk in front of the house Nora had indicated.

     “See you on Monday?”

     Nora paused for a second with the door open, then turned and smiled at him. “I take third period lunch,” she said, then hopped out and slammed the door closed.  He waved at her through the dark windshield and then pulled away as Nora waited on the sidewalk.  The heavy rain had turned into a light drizzle and her sweater was uncomfortably damp, but she grinned like a fool at Nate’s brake lights as they disappeared around the corner. 

 

     She woke up slowly, blinking against the darkness around her, chest heavy with a confusing mix of happiness and anger and grief.  She rolled over and pushed herself up on one elbow.  The faint orange light of sunrise had begun to peek through the holes in the wall and the air had a damp heaviness about it.

     “Morning, sunshine.”

     Nora glanced at Hancock and gave a non-committal grunt. “Did you stay up all night?”

     “Same as always,” he replied, “Ghouls don’t need as much sleep as you smoothskins.”

     Nora sighed and flopped back onto her sleeping bag, throwing an arm over her eyes.  Her dreams were always so vivid that they left her feeling like she hadn’t slept at all come morning.  Seemed like she couldn’t escape all the places that held some sort of bittersweet memory for her.

     “Better get moving if you want to make it to the Castle before noon.”

     Nora groaned. “I need coffee.  An extra-large Slocum’s Joe, two cream and two sugar, with a raspberry jelly donut on the side.  Hold all my calls until after ten.”

     Hancock was silent for a moment. “I’ve got molerat jerky and Jet.”

     Nora laughed in spite of herself and slowly sat up, rolling her shoulders and trying to stretch out the kinks in her muscles.

     “I’ll pass on both,” she said, digging through her bag for her canteen. “I don’t like to do drugs until after lunch.”

     “Your loss.”


	23. Taking Independence

     It didn’t take long to get to the Castle; the Raiders and Super Mutants that had taken up residence east of the old fort seemed to be subdued in the morning heat and it was easy to sneak past them without having to exchange bullets.  Once clear of the ruins, Nora made eagerly for the little diner ahead where Preston had promised to meet her.  She could see a half-dozen others milling around the crumbling structure and wondered darkly what fun awaited just past the blown-out walls ahead.

     “General!”

     Preston hopped down off the roof of the old diner, waving eagerly.  Nora waved back as Dogmeat rushed ahead to greet their friend.

     “Glad to see you made it in one piece,” Preston said, scratching Dogmeat’s ears. “I was worried when you didn’t show up last night.”

     “Raiders,” Nora replied, “Over at Mass Bay.  Took a while to get past them and by then it was getting dark.”

     “Well, that’s why we’re here,” Preston said, “Impressive, isn’t she?”

     Nora surveyed the abandoned fort.  The American flags and information placards were gone and two walls had completely collapsed into piles of dusty rubble, but what was left looked considerably safer than even Sanctuary Hills.

     “Looks good for being…six hundred years old.”

     “Those walls weren’t built until the 1800s, actually,” Hancock piped up behind her, “So, more like 400 years old.”

     Nora and Preston stared at him for a moment, earning a smirk that was both proud and derisive.

     “What, you Minutemen never picked up a history book?”

     Preston opened his mouth to reply but Nora interrupted. “It’s old,” she said, “But I think it’s still got a lot of potential.  What’s inside?”

     “Mirelurks.  They’ve been nesting.”

     “Oh, come on, Preston,” Nora wailed, shoulders sagging. “You know I hate mirelurks.”

     “It’s not like I put them there.  Between all of us, though, it shouldn’t take too much time.”

     “We can’t just nuke ‘em from orbit?”

     Hancock laughed quietly behind her and Preston shook his head.

     “Not without destroying the rest of the walls, I’m afraid.”

     “I say we split up and flank ‘em,” one of the other Minutemen interjected, “Trap those crabs inside the walls and it’ll be like shootin’ fish in a barrel.”

     “I don’t like the idea of sending someone around the side,” Nora said with a frown, “There’s no good escape route if we need to retreat at some point.”

     “Then we go in guns blazing.”

     “Sounds like a plan,” Nora replied, nodding. “But I’m not going in there without some literal firepower.”

     Nora’s idea of firepower involved making Molotov cocktails – lots of Molotov cocktails.  Empty bottles weren’t hard to find in the immediate area and she set everyone to work filling them with a noxious mix of scavenged turpentine, gasoline, and Abraxo cleaning powder.  A miniature assembly line developed and soon they had an arsenal of almost two dozen cocktails.

     “Don’t light them until the very last minute,” Nora instructed, knotting a long bit of rope around one bottle. “Dip it in the gasoline, light the wet end, and then throw it immediately.  Last thing you want is to drop it or have it explode while you’re still holding it.  Go for them when they’re clustered together.”

     “You sure we aren’t going to burn down the Castle with this strategy?” Preston asked, eyeing Nora’s arsenal dubiously.

     “It’s granite, it’ll be fine,” she replied dismissively, “Everyone ready?”

     A murmur of assent went through the little crowd and Nora set her shoulders.

     “Alright then.  Let’s torch these bugs.”

 

     Getting rid of the mirelurks and their nests was the easy part.  Nora, Hancock, and the Minutemen took them out in no time, the cocktails exploding in satisfying bursts of flame and smoke.  Before long, the courtyard of the old fort was littered with mirelurk bodies and broken glass.  Nora kicked through the debris with a satisfied smile and was about to say something when an ungodly roar rumbled through the castle walls.  A monstrous mirelurk – bigger even than a Deathclaw – rose up out of the water beside a half-broken stone wall and lunged toward them.  Saltwater and seaweed went flying as the monster waved its claws and spat thick, oozing venom at the people below.

     “Preston, what the fuck is that thing?” Nora screamed as they all made a hasty retreat back towards the diner outside the walls.

     “It’s a Queen,” Preston replied, panting as he loaded a fresh set of fusion cells into his musket. “I guess this is the sea creature the old guys meant when they said something rose out of the ocean and wrecked the Castle.”

     “A Mirelurk Queen?” Nora asked, incredulous. “Are you fucking serious?”

     “Afraid so,” Preston answered, “Stay back as far as you can and still get a shot.  Their underbellies are vulnerable.”

     “I think we need to have a conversation about your reconnaissance skills, Preston Garvey,” she said, pulling the hunting rifle off her shoulder. “First, the Deathclaw in the sewers and now the Mirelurk Queen…this is getting ridiculous.”

 

     It was well after sundown by the time the ragtag group managed to take down the queen and get the body hauled back into the ocean.  The inner walls of the Castle were covered in scorch marks and bullet holes, the courtyard stank of oil and rotting fish, and the mud was two inches deep in some places, but the Castle was back in the hands of the Minutemen.

     Nora spent most of the evening meeting with all the new recruits Preston had mustered up and doling out responsibilities, making lists on her Pip-Boy of all the things that needed to be done.  There was an overwhelming amount of work to be done, but it felt nice to be back in her groove – in charge of something, making decisions and plans for the future.  It also kept her mind off her impending trek into the Glowing Sea, which was much closer to happening now that the Minutemen could coordinate their efforts if she went off the radar.

     After a meal of salty, stringy roasted mirelurk, she took to walking the upper bastions of the Castle walls, looking out onto the surrounding bay and the dismembered corpse of the mirelurk queen.  That was going to attract every last wild dog from there to Sanctuary and smell horrible for weeks.

     Satisfied with her new settlement, Nora sat down in a dry spot of scrub grass to rest.  Every last bit of her ached and she was sweaty and muddy, but the Castle’s amenities were sorely lacking.  Any kind of bath or shower would have to wait.

     She sat there under the summer stars and pulled her boots off, flexing her sore ankle gingerly.  Matthew, a middle-aged man with a limp who had shown up while the other Minutemen were helping her prepare Molotov cocktails, had taken over getting the radio tower fixed and was now stationed below, playing a slightly battered fiddle in the light of a sputtering campfire.  He was talented and Nora liked the soft strains drifting up to her ears, punctuated by the occasional excited yelp as Dogmeat found another hatchling to chase through the mud. 

     “Doing alright, there?”

     Nora turned to see Hancock climbing up the stone stairs towards her.  She smiled and nodded, patting the grass beside her.  He glanced over the edge of the wall and hesitated before sitting down beside her a good foot away from the edge.

     “Pretty impressive, what you’ve done here,” he said, lighting a cigarette and offering her one.  She shook her head.

     “When I get my son back, I’ll need a place to raise him safely,” she said, “Cannons offer a pretty good measure of protection, I think.”

     “That they do,” Hancock agreed, “Where did you learn to make Molotov cocktails?”

     “Before the war,” Nora answered, rubbing her ankle tiredly.  Nate always knew exactly how to stop it from aching so much but she had never paid attention to what exactly he did, just joked with him that he should become a masseuse instead of going to medical school.

     “Wouldn’t expect you to need firebombs back then.”

     “I didn’t,” Nora said, “But they were a favorite of this activist/domestic terrorist that used to antagonize the rioters downtown.  He got arrested six different times but it took me a while to get some charges to stick.  The fire chief gave me this huge report on what kind of devices he used and so on.  Animal blood and dish soap made the cocktails smoke more, tar helped the gasoline stick so it burnt longer, stuff like that.”

     “Rioters?” Hancock echoed, “I always had the impression that things were more…peaceful before those bombs dropped.”

     Nora sighed and shook her head. “It wasn’t quite as bad as now,” she said, “But, well, nuclear detonations just accelerated what was already happening.  The price of gasoline skyrocketed, so for a while food prices were exorbitant.  People rioted.”

     Hancock nodded and the two of them sat in silence together on the bastion.  Nora stretched her legs out and leaned back on her elbows to gaze up at the dark sky.  The moonlight seemed to catch her every curve in just the right way and he felt that now-familiar warmth start pooling between his hips.  At least Fahrenheit wasn’t there to scowl at him.  Desperate for distraction, he rummaged through his coat pockets and came up with a Jet inhaler; like the cigarette, Nora waved away his offer to share indifferently.

     “Can I ask you a…personal question?”

     His Jet haze only accentuated her every movement -- the rise of her chest as she drew in a deep breath, the curve of her elbow as she lifted one arm, the swish of her rich russet hair as she pushed a few strands away from her face.  _Shit._

     “Those are my favorite kind of questions.”

     Nora rolled her eyes but smirked at him. “How did you become a ghoul?”

     Hancock sucked in a breath as the momentary haze began to fade. “Doing what I do best,” he answered, tearing his eyes away from her. “Drugs.”

     “Seriously?”

     “Yeah.  Used to head off into these wild tears through the ruins, looking for whatever chems I could.  More exotic, the better.  Found some sort of experimental radiation drug once.”

     “Sounds like fun.”

     “I was young,” Hancock replied with a shrug, “Living with the consequences, but hey, what’s not to love about immortality?”

     “He said, to the 200-year-old woman.”

     “Well, you got people that care about you, someone to look out for.”

     Nora didn’t respond, mulling over his unspoken implication for a moment.

     “How old is your boy?” Hancock asked, “I mean, not counting the freezer years.”

     “About ten.  I’m not sure exactly since I don’t know when they took him.”

     “That’s fucked up.”

     “It is.”

     They sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes before Nora exhaled heavily and hauled herself to her feet.

     “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she said, “Don’t get too high.”

     “No promises, sunshine.”

     She smiled at him and disappeared into the dark stairwell, footsteps echoing and then fading away.

 

     The old General’s quarters smelled stale and dusty but were at least free of abandoned mirelurk nests.  Nora stripped off her dirt-caked clothing and changed into a ratty t-shirt she’d been using to sleep in.  Dogmeat followed her in as she dumped the contents of her bag onto the other side of the bed and sorted through everything she had scavenged.  At the bottom of her various supplies and bits of junk was the syringe she’d been looking for.

     She uncapped it and stabbed the tiny needle into her thigh, inhaling deeply as the painkiller crawled through her.  Med-X was the only thing that didn’t make her jittery or paranoid or leave her with a raging hangover in the morning, and she didn’t have to fight the urge to fidget while fumbling for a vein.  It dulled her vivid dreams to blurs and melted away all the aches she picked up fighting her way through the Commonwealth.  She dropped back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling until the drug reached her brain and the curtain of dreamless sleep dropped.


	24. Bedmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not going to stab you,” Nora replied softly, “I’m too tired to go get my switchblade.”

     “Rowdy, it’s…” Nora surveyed her newly-repaired Power Armor with wide eyes and a semi-slack jaw. “Wow.  Just…wow.”

     Rowdy smiled and took a long drag off her cigarette. “I told you we’d get it fixed up for you,” she said, “This thing is cherry now.  Double-plated steel, anti-rad paint, new servos and shocks.  You are good to go anywhere your fusion cores can take you.”

     Nora ran a hand over the chest piece.  When she and MacCready had brought it in to the Atom Cats, the armor plates were scuffed, rusted in places, and sporting bullet holes.  One leg had been stripped down to the frame and the hinges were more than a little sticky.  Now, it looked as smooth and perfect as if it had just rolled off the assembly line in 2077.

     “I like the paint job.”

     “That’s my specialty addition,” Rowdy replied, smile widening. “On the house, for helping us with those Gunners.”

     Nora gave a small laugh.  Nate’s little brother Jake had once told her something very similar – _I fixed your brakes and buffed out all the rust.  Now you can drive around with a little style, not look like such a square.  My treat, for making me an uncle and all._

     “So where you taking this sweet little suit?”

     “South,” Nora replied, trying to deflect the question without lying outright. “Doing a little scouting for the Minutemen.”

     “I have every confidence in my own craftsmanship, Nora, but be gentle with the suit, alright?  Treat her right and she’ll take care of you.”

     “I will treat it like I would a child,” Nora replied, “Cross my heart.”

     “Excellent.  Now, you and your friend are hanging around for Poetry Night, correct?”

 

     “Geez, I thought that was never going to end,” Nora said hours later, sitting heavily on the spare bed the Atom Cats had sent her to.  Hancock leaned against the wall and gave a low laugh from under his hat.

     “I don’t know about you, but I thought we heard a few masterpieces.”

     Nora shook her head, a few vertebrae in her neck popping at the movement.  The last few days at the Castle had been filled with work and then she’d set out at dawn to make it to the Atom Cat’s garage before nightfall, Hancock at her side and Dogmeat barking at her retreating back in a mixture of what sounded like anger and anxiety.  Preston had been forced to hold onto the shepherd’s makeshift collar to keep him from chasing after his mistress.  Now, in the darkness and quiet of the old junkyard, the exhaustion and loneliness slammed into her like a bag of bricks and she leaned back onto the wall, rubbing her forehead with the heels of her hands.

     “Hey, you alright?”

     Hancock’s gravelly voice broke through the darkness, low and rough but laced with concern.

     “Yeah,” Nora replied, drawing a shaky breath and lowering her hands into her lap. “Just tired.”

     “Something bothering ya’?”

     Nora shook her head furiously.  Her throat felt suddenly raw and dry. “I’m being stupid.  I’ll get a grip in a minute.”

     “You know, if you try to control everything, eventually you’re going to lose control.”

     Nora sighed and let her head thump back against the steel beam holding the shack up. “If you tell anyone, I’ll stab you.”

     Hancock didn’t respond, just waited in silence.  She could see his thin form in the darkness, still leaned casually against the opposite wall, lit cigarette gripped between two fingers, like he could just wait there forever for her to start talking.

     “I…I miss Dogmeat.”

     “Ok.” Hancock lifted the cigarette and took a puff, held it for a moment, and then let out a smoky breath.

     “He’s always been with me,” Nora continued, “When I got out of the Vault, I left Sanctuary Hills almost immediately to start looking for my son.  Dogmeat just kind of appeared at this Red Rocket nearby.  He kept following me even when I told him to go home and even when I got into a shoot-out that afternoon.  He has literally saved my life countless times and he’s gotten injured in the process.  The one time I left him behind for a single night, I made the very stupid decision to take a roll in the hay with a guy I barely knew because he reminded me of my dead husband.  I don’t know why Dogmeat likes me so much but he does and I feel like I betrayed him leaving him behind with Preston.”

     Nora ended her long confession with a quick inhale and then sat quietly, waiting for a response.  It felt like forever before Hancock pushed himself off the wall and scooted over onto the bed next to her.  She snuck a glance over at him, meeting those depthless black eyes as a spotlight moved and shone briefly through the holes in the wall.

     “I wouldn’t happen to remind you of your dead husband, would I?”

     Nora let out the breath she’d been holding and rolled her eyes. “You’re a real charmer, John Hancock.”

     He laughed again and stubbed the cigarette out against the rusty bed frame. “Your mutt-loving secrets are safe with me, Nora,” he said, “That’s twice now you’ve threatened to stab me and we’ve been on the road long enough that I know you’d follow through if you really wanted to.”

     “I’m not going to stab you,” Nora replied softly, “I’m too tired to go get my switchblade.”

     “Get some sleep, then,” Hancock said, nudging her gently with his elbow.  He moved to get off the bed but Nora laid a hand on his arm, almost too lightly for him to realize at first.

     “Stay with me?”

     Hancock froze.  Innuendos and not-so-subtle suggestions were one thing, but this…this was another thing entirely.  He looked up from Nora’s pale hand on his arm to her face.  It was half-hidden in shadow but he could still make out the soft curve of her chin and the long lashes that framed those bright gray eyes.  Not only was she deadly and powerful and endowed with some amazing assets, but she also had the prettiest face he’d ever seen.

     “Of course, sunshine.”

     “Thank you.”

     She leaned into him, resting her head on his bony shoulder.  He felt her relax, her lithe form pressing warmly against him as her breaths evened out.  He waited a few minutes before wrapping an arm around her and shifting them both into lying down.

     “You’ll get one hell of a crick in the neck sleeping like that,” he told her when she mumbled a protest.

     “My usual bedmate is much hairier,” she muttered, face pressed into his lapel. “But you don’t smell like mirelurk scat.”

     He suppressed another laugh, fumbling in his pockets to light another cigarette with one hand.  He held it between thin lips and flicked the lighter open, breathing in tightly as the tobacco lit. 

     “Who’s the charmer now?”

     Nora mumbled something unintelligible and shifted so she was lying on her back, head pillowed on his bicep.  He tensed, waiting for her to realize who she was sleeping next to, but long minutes passed and nothing happened.  Her chest rose and fell gently with each breath and the night dragged on as she slept soundly.          


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like slow burns, personal hang-ups, and tense flirting.


	25. Dreams

     Nick Valentine the Synth Detective didn't really dream, per se – hard to when you didn't actually sleep.  But he did have the occasional flashback, which was probably as close to a dream as could happen.  If he went too long without running a diagnostic or letting his CPU rest, images started chasing themselves across his vision, disjointed bits of Human Nick's memories.  Occasionally he found himself reliving the past as if it had invaded the present.  This seemed to happen more and more of late, the more time he spent trying to track down the Eddie Winter tapes.   

     He splashed water on his face and glanced in the mirror, seeing a face that wasn't his, a careworn face framed by heavy eyebrows and brown hair steadily turning gray.  There were lines in his tanned skin that hadn't been there six months ago. 

     "Dammit, Nick Valentine, open the door!  You owe me an explanation!" 

     Nora.  Thinking about the Vault Dweller made his head hurt, made the memories waver and slide in and out of focus for a moment.  He felt hungover. 

     He left the bathroom and went for the front door, flinging it open just as Nora had her hand raised to pound on it again. 

     "Somebody's going to call the cops with you shouting like that." 

     "Where the hell were you today?" Nora demanded, stepping into the apartment.  She looked angry – furious, even, her usually warm eyes hard and cold as steel.  She was tiny next to him, a foot shorter even in heels, a six-month baby belly rounding out her usually slim figure, long hair framing her face almost angelically. 

     "I was here."   


     "Care to explain why you weren't in my _courtroom_ , giving your _eyewitness testimony_?" 

     Nick sighed and turned away from her, throwing himself onto the sofa and refusing to meet her eyes.  The place was a sty.  He had let everything slide – dishes, taking out the trash, laundry.  He'd also been sleeping on the couch, unable to go back to the bedroom they had shared. 

     "Nick?" Nora interrupted his thoughts, "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

     "Oh, nothing at all, Nora," he replied, scowling at her. "Just dealing with the cold-blooded murder of the love of my life, but I should be up and about in a jiff." 

     "Don't be a jackass," she said, arms folded. "You can't just give up because you lost someone." 

     "What the hell would you know about it?" 

     Nora shook her head and sighed. "Nick, I lost my father when I was three.  Fifteen years later, I lost my mom.  I know what you're feeling and I know it's going to take time.  Jenny was my friend, too." 

     "Did you come here to serve up platitudes or did you have something useful to say?" 

     She didn't take the bait, but her eyes narrowed and her posture stiffened. "I can handle losing a case fair and square," she said, "What I can't handle is having my case dismissed because my star witness doesn't show up to court with no explanation.  You made me look incompetent and downright stupid, Nick.  And for what?  So you could sit in a dark room and wallow in your self-pity?" 

     Nick pinched the bridge of his nose.  Her voice sounded far away as the memory faltered momentarily.  Nora stood there in her vault suit, arms still crossed.  Dogmeat waited at her side, then he blinked and the shepherd disappeared.  He heard himself say something.  Glass broke and he felt a pain in his hand.  Blood dripped from the metal.  He blinked again. 

     "Fine, you know what?  Screw you, Nick.  Let a murderer walk.  You obviously don't care anymore." 

     Nora, the twenty-first century Nora in her gray business skirt and loose blouse, the Nora whose son was still safe and sound and whose husband was very much alive, turned away and marched out of the apartment, slamming the door closed behind her.   

     Nick the Synth Detective blinked and started out of his chair.   

     "Are you alright?" 

     Ellie turned and looked at him questioningly.  Was it just coincidence that she looked like a brunette version of Jenny, or had he been subconsciously drawn to her because of Human Nick's memories? 

     "Nick?" 

     "Yeah, I'm good," he said, turning back to his desk and the stack of holotapes waiting there. "Fault in the subroutines or something." 

     "Time for a tune-up?" Ellie quipped, smiling at him.  

     "Guess so," Nick said, "Hey, do you know if that courier is still in town?" 

     "I think he might be," Ellie replied, "Why?" 

     "I have a letter I need taken up to Sanctuary," Nick replied, searching his drawers for a pen and scrap bit of paper. "You mind running it over to him when I'm done?" 

 

     Hancock jolted awake when his head fell forward, tricorn hat slipping off and landing in the dirt beside his leg with a muffled thump.  He reached for his shotgun instinctively, then relaxed when he remembered they were in Virgil's cave, relatively safe for the time being.  Nora was stretched out next to him, her head resting on his thigh, one arm extended beside her as the RadAway drained slowly into her.  Hancock shifted slightly and checked the needle to make sure it was still in place.  He'd had to stick her himself since she squirmed uncontrollably trying to do it herself, but once it was in and the medication began its slow absorption into her bloodstream, she had fallen asleep there on the cave floor with him. 

     He grabbed the RadAway bag and rolled it up, forcing out the last bit of dark liquid.  They had made the trek across the Glowing Sea almost without stopping.  At the crater, Nora had spoken with the Children of Atom and chugged down a bottle of water, then kept on going until they found Virgil's cave.  She'd interrogated him, gotten the information she needed, and made it halfway back to where she'd parked her Power Armor before doubling over and puking up what little was in her stomach.  Her Pip-Boy informed Hancock that her rad intake was still within acceptable limits, but he guessed that between a bit of radiation, not eating, and exhaustion, her body was spent.  It had taken almost no effort to convince her to rest for a while in Virgil's cave before they went back. 

     Hancock shifted again, moving gingerly so he didn't jostle her.  She groaned and blinked blearily at him.  Some of the color had returned to her face but there were still dark circles under her eyes. 

     "What time is it?" 

     "Almost dawn, I think," Hancock replied, "Not that you can really tell around here." 

     She sat up and poked at the RadAway needle in her arm. "Can I take this thing out now?" 

     "Bag's empty," Hancock said, nodding at her. "Should double up on the Rad-X from now on." 

     She nodded and raked a hand through her hair. "I was dreaming about radscorpions.  Preston had trained them to protect the Castle." 

     "Been in my stash when I'm not looking?" 

     Nora laughed weakly but didn't say anything, just leaned back against the cave wall, her shoulder touching his as she removed the spent RadAway drip and tossed it aside.  They sat there in silence for a few minutes as Hancock lit up a cigarette and Nora stared contemplatively at her Power Armor. 

     "I've spent the last three months busting my ass to get that thing and then get it fixed, and now I don't even want it." 

     "You look pretty badass in it." 

     She shrugged. "Even with the servos and whatever all fixed, it just doesn't move right to me.  And I keep worrying the fusion core is going to malfunction or something and kill me." 

     "Well, you won't see me complaining if you'd rather trek around the wastes in that skintight blue thing, but you should probably keep the Power Armor long enough to get out of the Sea, at least." 

     His flirting rarely made her blush like that first time had, but she always smiled at him and fuck was he a glutton for that smile of hers.  She tapped at her Pip-Boy screen, pulling up a map on the little screen. 

     "Ever been to Vault 81?" 

     "Rad freaks like myself ain't usually welcome in those sorts of places." 

     "You're not a freak," Nora replied without missing a beat, "I've got five more fusion cores with me and the last time I was at the Vault, they wanted some.  One to get us up there, three for them, one to take the Power Armor up to Sanctuary.  Sturges can have the damn thing for all I care." 

     Hancock nodded silently beside her as she mentally mapped out her plan.  To the Vault, then to Sanctuary.  Back south to track down a Courser and get its chip.  Find someone to decode it.  Build a teleportation machine.  Infiltrate the Institute, find Shaun, bring him home.  Take up her role as General of the Minutemen and Heaven help anyone who so much as looked at her son sideways ever again. 

     "You don't need to get back to Goodneighbor anytime soon, do you?" 

     Hancock shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette. "Wouldn't hurt to check in sometime, but most of my job can be done by Fahrenheit.  Am I growing on you?" 

     "Not counting Dogmeat, you're the first person I've traveled with that doesn't either annoy the shit out of me eventually or have someone else to look after," Nora admitted, "It's nice to have a gun at my back as good as you." 

     Hancock grinned. "You got nothing to worry about with me coverin' ya', sister." 


	26. No Cure For That

     The one thing about Nora that had always been obvious to Hancock was that she was tough.  She didn't give up and she didn't take shit from anyone – as evidenced when she told Finn to stick his insurance where the sun didn't shine.  He had stepped in that dreary night in Goodneighbor because, well, what the fuck good was a Vaultie against a wasteland prick like Finn?  But after a few weeks on the road and following her into the very cradle of nuclear destruction, he knew that she probably would have fared just fine without his interference by putting a 10mm slug square between that dickhole's eyes. 

     What wasn't obvious to him right away was the size of her heart.  She was a mother on a mission and that obviously meant she wasn't past loving someone, but it was so much more than that.  Nora cared about people and she asked nothing of them except to not stab her in the back.  She didn't just lead the Minutemen and take back the old Castle to have a safe place to raise her son, she did it because she had this bottomless well of compassion for people.  Where she got it, he didn't know – he had no delusions about the grandeur of the world she was born in, they were the ones who fucked it up for the rest of them, after all – but he was still awed by it.  She saw that the world was fucked and he was pretty sure she thought that it always had been in some way, but she wasn't willing to just let it keep going to hell in a handbasket.  Not her little corner of it, anyway. 

     This all became most obvious to him once they got to Vault 81.  People she barely knew, who had done nothing to her but also nothing _for_ her, and there she was handing over three fusion cores to keep their generators going.  Fusion cores that were worth enough to keep her in food and ammo for a good two months.  If that wasn't noble enough of her, she then steadfastly refused to speak to or do business with that random asshole who'd called him a freak, though by now he was used to that sort of treatment and didn't have half a fuck to give.  She didn't make a big deal out of it – just made it known that she didn’t like that shit and wouldn't tolerate it.  And _then_ she went and talked to those kids. 

     He waited at the back of the little classroom, rolling a Mentat around his mouth and wondering if they'd care if he smoked, while she told (heavily sanitized) stories about the Commonwealth to wide-eyed kids who hung on her every word.  This woman who dropped f-bombs like it was going out of style, who was always carrying at least three weapons, and whom he suspected had a Med-X addiction, was standing there telling them stories, complete with funny voices and wild hand gestures. 

     "Have you ever seen a Deathclaw?" One little boy piped up after she finished her story about fighting the Mirelurk Queen.  He was squirming excitedly in his seat. 

     "I sure have," Nora replied, gray eyes bright and warm as she smiled. "My first day out in the Commonwealth." 

     "Whoa!  What happened?" 

     Hancock had already heard this story; their second night at the Castle, she and Preston had told everyone about it while they gathered around the campfire to eat, then the two of them had a good-natured argument about whether or not Preston should have known about the 'Claw in the sewers.  She told the story as if the Power Armor had turned her into a superhero and Preston her sidekick, leaving out the part where she spent almost a month recuperating from the broken ribs it left her with. 

     The kids were insatiable for stories and Nora had lots of them.  After almost an hour, the talk turned to what the Old World had been like – did she drive a fast car?  Did she ever fly in an airplane?  Were the bugs really smaller than caps? 

     One of the kids, a young blue-eyed girl with a mass of blonde curls, pulled out a pre-war storybook and made Nora flip through the pages with her, asking her about all the things that caught her fancy. 

     "Did you ever see a ballerina?" She asked, poking one faded page. "This is my favorite story and it has ballerinas in it.  They're so pretty." 

     "I didn't just _see_ ballerinas," Nora replied with a wistful smile, "I used to _be_ a ballerina." 

     "Really?  Could you dance on your toes like that?" 

     "Yep," Nora said, "It took years and years of practice but it was a lot of fun." 

     Hancock saw that behind her smile, there was something deeper than wistfulness – there was sadness, the same kind of melancholy she got when they passed an old building that had some sort of pre-war meaning for her or she looked at the decaying billboards along the roadways.  Fond memories tainted by everything she knew now, kind of how he felt in the rare moments he allowed himself to think about his brother and that little shack on the river. 

     After Nora finished her stories and promised to return later with more, they started making their way back to the elevator to the surface but were met instead with a plea for help.  There was danger involved and it would take time she could have spent getting back to Sanctuary to continue her search for her son, but of course she agreed to help without batting an eye.  Hancock went with her unquestioningly – after all, he was just along for the ride at the moment, and there wasn't much that posed an actual threat to him, being a Ghoul and all. 

     Turned out to just be molerats, though they found out very quickly that these were disease-ridden laboratory experiments.  Didn't stop Nora from finishing what she had started; if anything she seemed more determined to help that little boy.  When they found Curie and the supposed cure for whatever disease he'd come down with, she took it straight back to the medical bay and handed it over without a word.  Dr. Penske tried to convince her to split it between herself and the boy – the angry bite mark on Nora's left arm was hard to miss – but she refused.  Insisted that she'd be ok.  Even Hancock was starting to question her selflessness at that point, but she brushed off everyone's concerns as if she had just gotten a papercut, not been chewed on by virus-carrying disease sacks. 

     At that point, all Nora seemed concerned with was taking advantage of the room Overseer MacNamara offered them, an attempt at a thank you for saving a little boy's life.  When they got there and she had fallen flat on the bed, she started laughing. 

     "You alright there, sunshine?" 

     Nora let out a heavy breath and looked up at him. "Those fucking idiots," she said, "They were trying to study and cure diseases using the vault-dwellers as guinea pigs.  Breed the viruses in the molerats, then introduce them into the ventilation or the food or whatever to study the effects on the human population.  Failed, like most of the other Vaults, for whatever reason.  But up until we killed them all, there were all these countless generations of diseased rats running around just waiting to infect one of these modern dwellers, who have been isolated from the rest of the world for so long they've got no immunity to anything." 

     "Yeah, I got that, already.  What's the punch line?" 

     "Those Vault-Tec bastards were so damn cocky," she continued, "They didn't expect any of their experiments to fail.  Bunch of asshole scientists who checked their ethics at the blast door got their comeuppance and died of the fucking common cold." 

     "The what?" 

     "The common cold!" Nora nearly shrieked, laughing and angry and bordering on hysterical. "They were trying to cure the _common fucking cold_ and their loose experiments almost killed Austin.  But they didn't figure in the fact that a pre-war Vault Dweller would somehow find her way back here and make it through their house of horrors intact because she's had approximately eighty-seven fucking colds in her lifetime and has an immune system unlike anyone else in this godforsaken apocalypse.  Why not HIV or West Nile or any of the super-bacteria roaming the Earth then?  The fucking stupidity and irony.  Stupid, stupid bastards...they didn't kill me in 111 and they aren't going to take anyone else with them now." 

     Most of what she'd said made little sense to Hancock.  He had no idea what a common cold was or why the whole situation made her laugh instead of get angry, and he was still a little uneasy that she was going to suddenly fall ill and die without that cure.  The only thing he knew for certain was that he was beyond just lusting after this beautiful woman or even having some juvenile crush on her – he had flat-out fallen in love with Nora and there certainly wasn't a cure for that.


	27. Life Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra-long chapter for your reading pleasure, since I took longer than usual to update. Buckle up for Hancock feels and lots more awkward flirting and sexual tension.

     Nora tilted her head into the spray of water, the warmth crawling down her tired body and enveloping her like a hug.  She'd never thought much about how much she missed hot showers since she left the Vault, but this was definitely something she and Sturges had to figure out how to rig up.   

     She turned and stuck her face in the stream, barely suppressing a moan of pleasure.  Even though she could feel the snotty stuffiness of a cold already building in her sinuses, the hot water made her feel relaxed for the first time in forever. 

     "Getting naughty in there?" 

     Hancock's voice drifted in past the shower curtain and Nora sighed contentedly. "I might.  This is perfect." 

     "I can guarantee I'm better." 

     Nora smirked to herself as she lathered up a washcloth. "You're incorrigible." 

     "You know I don't mean anything by it," Hancock replied, almost too quickly.  Nora's smirk widened and she peeked around the curtain before flicking him with water. 

     "I didn't say I minded."   


     Silence.  Nora held in a another sigh, this one exsperated.  He could make as many self-deprecating comments as he wanted, but she was the one with the big mouth.  Strike number three for opening her trap and creating these awkward silences between them.  She'd done the same thing to Nate -- years before he learned to keep up with her and/or ignore the shit she said. 

     She stood there under the hot water for a few more minutes, listening carefully for Hancock's movements.  He'd left the little alcove that served as a bathroom and she could hear the rattle of his Mentats tin.  She turned off the water and toweled herself off behind the curtain, racking her brain for something to say to assuage the awkwardness she felt.  Thankfully, Hancock broke the silence first. 

     "So what's a ballerina?" He asked as she slipped her night shirt over her head, "I thought you were some lawmaker or something."   


     Nora felt herself relax.  Hancock was always asking her questions about life pre-war, usually after he got into the Mentats. 

     "Ballet is a kind of dance," she said, "I took lessons for years and wanted to do it professionally but I ended up going to law school." 

     "You don't seem like the type to give up on something." 

     "I didn't," Nora replied, tearing into the paper-wrapped jerky he handed her. "When I was nineteen the school I was going to got closed down.  Nearest other one was in New York and I didn't have the money to pay for it and live on my own." 

     She chewed silently as Hancock nodded at her.  It was an oversimplified explanation – she could still see the red tags on the double doors, the iron chain wrapped around the handles, the plywood nailed over all the windows.  She and her classmates had stood there for an hour, trying to figure out what to do, some of the girls crying because the school closing meant the inevitable revocation of study visas.  Nora's lift partner muttered darkly about secret police and trampling on the Constitution before he stalked away.  She'd called Nate to pick her up and spent the weekend sick with worry over the fate of her Mistress and the direction of her own life without her art. 

     "Earth to Nora." 

     She jumped and Hancock gave a gravelly laugh. "Sorry," she muttered, "One memory inevitably leads to another." 

     "Good or bad?" 

     "Depends on how you look at it." 

     He nodded sagely and Nora shifted on the bed uncomfortably. 

     "What about you?" 

     "What about me?" Hancock replied, tipping back in his chair, boots resting on the bed frame.  

     "I tell you all about myself," Nora said, "Time to return the favor." 

     "Not much about me to tell." 

     "Bullshit." Nora crossed her arms like a petulant child, eyebrows raised expectantly.  Hancock let the chair thump back onto the floor and popped another Mentat.   

     "Okay, you got me," he said, "There's a lot to tell.  Where do I start?" 

     "You told me once that Goodneighbor used to be run by a guy named Vic," Nora said after a moment, relaxing her stubborn posture. "How'd you get to be in charge?" 

     "Democratic election." 

     "I doubt that." 

     Hancock gave her a dry smile. "Couple of years ago, before I went ghoul, I saw some shit I didn't ever want to see again," he said after a moment, "Vic was...an asshole, plain and simple.  Liked to take advantage of us drifters, let his cronies loose on the populace to blow off steam.  One night someone tried to say something to 'em..." 

     Nora sat there quietly, giving him a small, knowing nod.  He wouldn't have expected some soft Vaultie to understand what he was talking about, but the look on her face was nothing but genuine. 

     "Everyone just stood by and watched, myself included," he admitted after a moment, "Afterwards, I got so high I blacked out.  Felt like less than nothing." 

     He glanced down at his boots, unable to meet Nora's eyes.  They sat in silence for a long moment. 

     "You aren't the first person in history to be too afraid to say something," she said finally, "And as long as assholes and tyrants still exist, I don't think you'll be the last.  It's not a situation I envy being in." 

     "Yeah, but it was still spineless," Hancock replied, "Once I woke up from my high, I found myself in the Old State House, in front of the clothes of John Hancock." 

     "And then you decided to stage a coup?" 

     Hancock gave a mirthless laugh and nodded. "Basically.  Got clean for a while, took some of the other drifters out to the ruins to train with borrowed hardware.  Waited one night until Vic's boys were good and wasted, then we took 'em out.  Fucking massacre." 

     "What about the man himself?" 

     "Wrapped a rope around his neck and threw him off the balcony of the Old State House," Hancock replied.  Nora nodded and leaned back on the bed, stretching her legs out in front of her.  She didn't seem the least bit put off by his story, as he had expected at first, but then again, this was the woman he'd seen beat people to death with the butt of her shotgun.  She was no stranger to violence or the power it had to turn the tides in your favor. 

     "If you fought so hard to become mayor, why'd you leave?" 

     Hancock looked at her in confusion. "I was pretty high that night, but I distinctly remember _you_  asking _me_ to join you."   


     "Because Fahrenheit asked me to." 

     "She what?" 

     "Yeah," Nora said, "After my mutie friend ditched me, I went looking for some more work.  Thought you might have more recon needs so I could procrastinate going into the Glowing Sea.  Fahrenheit cornered me outside Daisy's and said you were looking to get out of town for a bit." 

     "Well, shit," Hancock said, "Didn't realize I was that transparent." 

     "She seems to know you well.  You two got history?" 

     Hancock waited half a second before replying. "She's an old friend," he said, "No offense, but I'm kind of surprised she'd even give you the time of day." 

     "I may have rolled into town looking like fresh meat on a silver platter, but I've got my charms," Nora sniffed at him with a toss of her red-brown locks, "And plenty of ammo." 

     "I can respect that," Hancock laughed, "Well I guess whenever I do head back I should thank her.  Damn nice to have a friend who sees the world for what it is and doesn't want to just sit back and watch." 

     Nora smiled. "That's what we are, friends?" 

      _Fuck_.  Was she just playing with him?  They bantered constantly and she never blew him off, but when did it go from banter to something genuine?  No way a perfect woman like Nora could have her heart or even just her eyes set on a fucked up, chem-addled ghoul. 

     He shifted in his seat, trying to maintain his dignity.  Her smile made his chest feel full and warm, while those long, muscular legs – dancer's legs, ones he'd give his left hand to have wrapped around his waist – made the heat rise in his groin uncomfortably.  She kept her eyes on him and before he could think about what he was saying to this leggy goddess --  

     "Well, now that you mention it...I have been having more _impure_  thoughts than usual lately." 

     "Is that so?" Nora sat up and pulled one knee to her chest, resting her arm on it as she smiled slyly at him.   

     "Yeah, maybe we can act on those sometime." He returned her smile and leaned towards her as she started to reply, but they were interrupted by a sudden loud beep from the Pip-Boy abandoned on the side table. 

     Nora muttered a swear under her breath as she swung her legs off the bed and reached for the device.  Hancock sat back, heart pounding against his ribcage.  Fuckin' Mentats making him braver than he should be around her.  He patted down his pockets as Nora tapped at the screen of her Pip-Boy. 

     "Just Sanctuary," she said after a moment, "Sorry, I forget to turn this thing off sometimes." 

     "They doing alright?" 

     "Yeah, just Sturges wanting me to keep an eye out for parts," she said, shrugging. "The man never sleeps.  You alright?" 

     "Just going to get some fresh air and fill my lungs with nicotine," Hancock said, tapping his pack of cigarettes. "Need anything?" 

     "No, I'm going to sleep." 

     He nodded and left the room as fast as he thought he could without looking like he was running from her.  The rest of the Vault was dim and quiet; he wandered the halls aimlessly and only got one dirty look before he guessed enough time had passed.  Nora had fallen asleep by the time he made it back, curled up on her side, face half-hidden in the pillow.  Her night shirt had ridden up to her ribs, exposing a pale stomach dissected by shiny stretch marks and a long, surgical-looking scar between her hips.  He stared without meaning to, wondering what in the hell had caused that when she jerked in her sleep and rolled to her back. 

     Underneath her thigh was a spent syringe, pressed into the soft flesh as if she had fallen asleep on it.  There was a scarlet, cap-sized welt on her thigh, evidence of her daily Med-X injections.  He took the syringe and tossed it into the wastebasket nearby.  He, better than anyone, knew this wasn't a road she really wanted to get started down, but why the fuck should she listen to him?  All the things she'd been through, relying on painkillers to sleep was probably taking it easy. 

     Nora jerked again, lips moving silently as her eyes twitched behind closed lids.  Most nights lately, she'd fall asleep on his arm and not move until dawn, but he knew if he touched her now, even in the friendly way she was okay with, he'd be tempted beyond his self-control.  He cast around the room and then picked up her Pip-Boy.  The radio wasn't hard to find; with a little tuning, he found the classical station she'd listened to before.  He set the device on the side table as the music filled the little room and Nora relaxed visibly, then leaned back in his chair and waited for morning. 


	28. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My apologies, sir," an Initiate holding a scuffed .308 piped up, "I thought...I thought it was another Feral." 
> 
> "When was the last time you saw a Feral wearing fucking frock coat and tricorn?" Nora snarled at the kid, who paled and stepped back from her. "You're damn lucky your aim sucks, because mine doesn't." 
> 
> "Everyone back to their posts," Paladin Danse interrupted loudly as Nora focused a death glare on the Initiate that had shot at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :-)

   "They did _what_?" 

     The settler, a scrawny young woman who's name Nora couldn't remember, nodded fretfully. "Requisitioning, they called it," she said, "Promised to come back with full payment in a while, but that was about two weeks ago." 

     Nora pinched the bridge of her nose and tried not to scream.  Her cold was in full swing and she'd been fighting a pounding headache since leaving Vault 81 that morning, and the news from Oberland Station was only souring her mood further. 

     "It's not your fault," the settler reassured her, "I don't expect the Minutemen to fight off the Brotherhood.  I'm just glad we can count on you guys to keep the Raiders off our backs." 

     Nora nodded tersely. "Do you guys still have purified water for the moment?" 

     "Yeah, we're okay on that," the settler replied, "Those wells you helped us dig have been a godsend." 

     "I'll get someone to bring down some food from one of the other settlements as soon as possible," Nora said, "In the meantime, I've got a bone to pick with the Brotherhood." 

     "You, uh, planning on just marching up to the airport and asking to speak to their leader?" Hancock asked, brows lifted in trepidation. "Not that I don't like the idea, per se..." 

     "A while back, MacCready and I helped out one of their recon teams over in Cambridge," Nora replied, fiddling with the dials on her Pip-Boy. "I'm pretty sure they've still got a base there and I'm going to have a word with their Paladin personally." 

     Hancock nodded as Curie twittered nervously beside him.  Since they'd shown up with their obnoxious blimp, it seemed the Brotherhood had been nothing but a pain in the Commonwealth's collective ass.  His scouts in Goodneighbor had seen them skulking around the ruins scavenging and killing anything that crossed their paths, but so far none of them had darkened his doorstep.  Nora never had much to say about them one way or another, but by the look on her face as she repacked her supplies to head out, they'd just crossed a line they were going to regret. 

 

     It didn't take long to make the trek across the river into Cambridge, Nora leading the way in her Power Armor, Hancock behind her, and Curie flanking them as she scanned any vegetation and wildlife she came across.  No one spoke much until they neared the old College Square and heard the unmistakable twanging of laser rifles. 

     "Sounds like Ferals," Hancock noted when Nora stopped to peer around the corner of the building.  

     "It is," she replied, "Did those idiots not think to bar the doors of the old subway station?  That's where they're always coming from." 

     Hancock nodded in agreement.  A pack of Ferals could meander miles and miles through the old subway tunnels and there never seemed to be an end to them.  Best to just avoid them altogether and keep the entrances and exits blocked. 

     "They got the last one," Nora said after a moment, "These guys really don't like Ghouls; do you want to stay here?" 

     Hancock smirked at her. "And miss out on all the fun?" 

     Nora smiled behind her helmet and shouldered her shotgun, thankful that no one could see her legs shaking while she was wearing Power Armor.  If she could get through however this conversation would go without losing her temper or showing Danse how flustered she was, it'd be a fucking miracle. 

     The odd trio left the cover of the old building and started the march across the square, weapons out but held at ease.  Nora wished for a moment she had Preston with her but the thought was interrupted by the _pop_ _pop_ _pop_ of a rifle.  Curie yelled in alarm and jerked left, narrowly avoiding a bullet; Hancock let out a feral snarl and Nora saw him stumble from the corner of her eye. 

     "Cease fire, cease fire!" 

     Paladin Danse himself came charging out of the police station, several Knights and Scribe Haylen on his heels.  The Knights had their weapons out and ready but Nora hit the emergency release on her Power Armor and hopped out, shotgun abandoned on the concrete. 

     "I'm fine, he just clipped my leg," Hancock said to her as she knelt next to him.  The bullet had grazed him just above the knee, leaving an inch-wide gash in its wake that poured blood. 

     "Nora?" 

     Nora stood and turned on Paladin Danse, jaw set hard. "What the hell was that about?  Do you just shoot at anything that walks past?" 

     "My apologies, sir," an Initiate holding a scuffed .308 piped up, "I thought...I thought _it_ was another Feral." 

     "When was the last time you saw a Feral wearing fucking frock coat and tricorn?" Nora snarled at the kid, who paled and stepped back from her. "You're damn lucky your aim sucks, because mine doesn't." 

     "Everyone back to their posts," Paladin Danse interrupted loudly as Nora focused a death glare on the Initiate that had shot at them.  Once they were all out of earshot, he turned back to her. 

     "What are you doing here?" 

     "Looking for _you_ ," Nora answered, throwing him a dark look. "But it'll have to wait a few minutes." 

     "I can't let that thing inside the compound." 

     "Danse, cut the crap," Nora snapped, "We can discuss your bigotry later but right now I have a friend that's bleeding out and we need cover.  You're already on my shit list at the moment; don't make me regret trying to handle this situation diplomatically." 

     Danse looked like he was going to say something further, but wisely chose not to.  Nora stepped back into her Power Armor and followed him and Hancock into the compound, a trail of blood splattered across the square. 

     "You two, uh, know each other?" Hancock asked a few minutes later while Nora was stitching him up, Curie hovering over her shoulder to give instruction. 

     Nora let out hard exhale through her nose. "Yes," she said after a moment, "Remember that bad decision I mentioned when I was blubbering about Dogmeat?" 

     Hancock's eyes widened. "No." 

     She gave him a dark look. "You tell anyone and --" 

     "Let me guess, you'll stab me?" 

     "Exactly." 

     "How'd you stomach it?" 

     "He hadn't opened his mouth just yet," Nora replied, snipping off the thread she'd used to close up his wound. "At least, not as much.  And he looks a lot like Nate." 

     "I'm surprised you guys got anything done around that gigantic stick in his ass." 

     Nora snorted with laughter and quickly stifled it with the one hand wiped clean of his blood.  A few yards away, Danse sent them a sharp look.  Hancock smirked at him. 

     "What was it you wanted to discuss, Nora?" 

     Nora slapped her medkit closed and stood up, stretching herself to her full height.  Granted, there wasn't much height to her, but she commanded a certain authority that Hancock had to admire. 

     "Oberland Station," she said, "Brotherhood soldiers _requisitioned_ an entire harvest of crops and left the settlers empty-handed for at least another six weeks.  Oberland is under the protection of the Minutemen, so we've got a big problem here." 

     Danse stared her down for a moment before replying. " _You're_ General Wilson?" 

     "In the flesh," Nora replied curtly, "I happened to be in the neighborhood and I figured that I would speak with you before I went higher up." 

     "Why, because of our past history?" 

     "No, because despite whatever misguided values the Brotherhood espouses, I know that you aren't a cold-hearted asshole, Danse," Nora replied, her voice dangerously low. "If the squad that took Oberland's crops was under your command, I expect you to honor the promise made and pay them for what was taken.  Immediately.  Scavenge for whatever technology you want.  Spout your bigoted ideals, kill as many Ferals as it takes.  But if the Brotherhood continues to take advantage of the Commonwealth, we're going to have a really big problem and I can promise it will not end well for you." 

     The two stood facing each other for a long moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.  Danse, tall and broad with at least a dozen soldiers backing him, stared down the petite Vaultie who only had a nervous Miss Nanny bot and a lame Ghoul on her side, but she refused to budge.  After what felt like an eternity, Danse's posture softened momentarily and he nodded. 

     "Of course," he said, "I'll send a team out tonight." 

     Nora smiled. "Good," she said, "I'm glad this could be solved quickly." 

     She rejoined Hancock near the perimeter of the compound, rolling her shoulders to try and ease the tension in them. 

     "Nora Wilson, I don't think I've ever seen anything so amazing," Hancock said, "If I join the Minutemen, will you boss me around like that?" 

     "I think it is wonderful that you solved the problem without resorting to violence," Curie piped up, eyestalks blinking at Hancock in what might have been reproach. 

     "Thank you, Curie," Nora said, "John, I can boss you around anytime.  All you have to do is ask." 

     They left Cambridge with just a few hours of daylight left, putting as many miles between them and the Brotherhood compound as possible before taking shelter in an abandoned shack for the night.  Nora fell asleep even before she'd eaten or removed all her armor, cheeks flushed and face pale.  She'd been coughing for a while but had insisted that she was alright and just needed sleep, so Hancock left her alone.  He sat on the floor of the shack for a long time, watching her sleep in a Jet and Mentats haze and trying not to contemplate things too much. 

     She'd called him _John._


	29. The Kiss Pool

    Although it was ridiculously out of the way, Nora always liked going home to Sanctuary.  It was familiar, it was relatively safe, and, oddly enough, it seemed to hold the least amount of painful memories for her.  She'd lived in the little yellow house less than two years before the bombs fell and had spent most of her time at work before Nate came home, then filled the days afterwards with trips to the hospital and various therapists, caring for Shaun, and making sure Codsworth didn't drive her husband crazy.  Post-bombs, Sanctuary was her revival project, an experiment to see how livable the Commonwealth might be when there was electricity and machine gun turrets and strict "everyone's welcome" policies.  It also had her favorite German Shepherd in residence. 

     After ditching her Power Armor at the Red Rocket's workshop, she practically sprinted up the road to the old bridge.  Hancock followed close behind, long legs comfortably matching her stride. 

     "Dogmeat!" 

     The canine came running across the bridge at full tilt, jumping and barking excitedly at Nora.  She dropped her pack and knelt down so he could lick her face, his happy whines mingled with her laughing and half-hearted admonishments. 

     "Oh, buddy, I missed you so much," Nora sighed, hugging the shepherd's fluffy neck. "Don't worry, you won't get left behind again." 

     She stood and Hancock nudged her lightly, pointing towards the neighborhood sign.  A little boy, no more than four or five years old, stood next to it.  He was barefoot and a little on the scrawny side, but seemed otherwise healthy besides the look of trepidation on his face.  Nora gave him a soft smile and a little wave that he didn't return.   

     "You know him?" Hancock asked and Nora shook her head. 

     "Must be new," she said, then turned back to the kid, who had edged a few steps farther away from them. "Hi, sweetie.  What's your name?" 

     He didn't respond and his blue eyes, wide and bright in his pale face, flicked over to Hancock.  Without warning, he turned and bolted into the settlement, yelling at the top of his lungs. 

     "Daaaaaaaaddddyyy!" 

     Nora stood there for a moment with a look of bewilderment on her face. 

     "Looks like my dazzling personality and dashing good looks got another one," Hancock dead-panned beside her. 

     "There are other Ghouls that live here," Nora responded, "I don't know, maybe the kid's just weird --" 

     Whatever the reason, the little boy's yells had attracted the attention of the rest of the settlement, who abandoned their various jobs and lookouts to come running towards the main avenue.  Nora lifted her hands to calm them as she led the way up the concrete path. 

     "Just me, guys," she said loudly, "False alarm." 

     The settlers relaxed visibly in her presence and began to meander back to their work.  Codsworth came whizzing towards them, metal arms waving excitedly. 

     "Oh, Miss Nora, you're back!" He exclaimed, "It's so good to see you on this fine afternoon!  May I take your pack?" 

     "Thanks, but I've got it, Codsworth," Nora answered, "What you can do is point me to Preston and then go find a Miss Nanny bot." 

     "A Miss Nanny, ma'am?" 

     "Her name is Curie.  She's been traveling with us but she wandered off somewhere around the Red Rocket.  Find her and bring her back here, please?  I don't think she realizes how dangerous it is above ground." 

     "Of course, ma'am," Codsworth replied, "Mr. Garvey was at the workbench the last I spoke with him." 

     Nora heard Preston before she saw him, his gentle voice reassuring someone. 

     "No one's upset, really," he was saying, "It happens.  Don't give it a second thought." 

     "Hey, guys – Mac!" 

     Nora dropped her pack and stared in astonishment. 

     "What are you doing here?" 

     "Not happy to see me?" The mercenary feigned offense and Nora rolled her eyes. 

     "Of course I'm happy to see you," she replied with a shaky laugh, hugging him. "I just didn't expect to again for a while.  It's only been what, two months?" 

     "The cure we found worked like magic," MacCready replied, "Soon as Duncan was up and around again, I figured we'd be better off here than anywhere in the Capital." 

     "Was that him sounding the alarm?" 

     MacCready winced. "Yeah, sorry, he's been pretty jumpy..." 

     "Don't apologize," Nora cut him off, "Kids have their moments.  I'm just glad he's better and that you're back in one piece." 

     "Same for you," Preston jumped in, "How'd it go?  Get what you needed?" 

     "I think so.  Did you know the Institute uses teleportation?" 

     Preston blinked at her in surprise. "No shit." 

     "Yeah.  I'm going to need Sturges for this one.  Like, full-time." 

     "Do you have a few days to take off?" 

     "Please don't tell me someone at Tenpines got kidnapped again..." 

     "No, I said 'take off'," Preston replied with a laugh, "As in, I've got other Minutemen covering everything but the most absolute emergencies." 

     Nora perked up and grinned. "What's the occasion?" 

     "A wedding." 

 

     It was nearing midnight but the party was still going.  The bare foundation of a cleared-away house had been turned into an impromptu reception space, filled with strings of salvaged lightbulbs and mismatched furniture.  The sounds of Diamond City Radio wafted through the air alongside the scent of fried brahmin and radstag as settlers and Minutemen mingled together.  Although Preston and Lucy had long since disappeared from the gathering, the celebration continued.   

     MacCready sat by himself a little apart from the main crowd when Piper sidled up to him and flopped into the chair next to him. 

     "Come back for that one-on-one interview?" 

     "Never in a million years," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Have you seen Nora?" 

     "She's right there," MacCready nodded towards the yellow house.  Nora was sitting in the old driveway with Hancock, her chair tilted in so they were almost facing.  She had one long leg slung across his knees and a couple brown bottles were at their feet. 

     "I know where she's _at_ ," Piper said, "I mean, have you _seen_ her?  What she's doing?" 

     "Uh...looks like she's enjoying the night like the rest of us." 

     "That's what I'm worried about." 

     "That she's having fun?" MacCready turned and gave Piper a quizzical look.  Her brows were furrowed anxiously, arms crossed, her back stiff.   

     "With _Hancock_?" 

     "What's wrong with him?" 

     "Oh, come on, MacCready," Piper sighed, "I know he's not the worst person in the world, but come on.  Goodneighbor isn't exactly a nice neighborhood and it takes on the character its mayor." 

     MacCready shifted in his seat. "He's rough around the edges but a good guy, really." 

     "I think Nora likes him." 

     "I doubt she'd have taken him on the road with her if she didn't." 

     "I mean she really likes him," Piper clarified, "Like, have you seen the way they look at each other?  And look at them now.  That's not 'good friends.'" 

     MacCready glanced surreptitiously at the pair, trying to get a handle on what Piper had implied.  True, he hadn't seen Nora ever be so physical with someone, and they'd spent most of the evening side by side, but with Hancock?  Couldn't be.  

     "No way," he replied dismissively, shaking his head. "I really doubt she's looking for that right now." 

     "Doesn't mean it isn't happening." 

     "Care to bet on that?" A third voice interrupted.  Sturges pulled up a stool and joined the pair, one eyebrow lifted suggestively. 

     "Bet?" 

     "Yeah, she got me on the Preston/Lucy thing," he said, "We call it the Kiss Pool.  Codsworth keeps track." 

     "You guys are betting on people falling into romantic relationships?" Piper asked, "Now I've heard it all." 

     "Who else is in this Pool?" MacCready asked and Piper rolled her eyes again. 

     "You only get to know about anyone you've got a stake in," Sturges said, "In case you're part of a bet.  Can't skew the results with prior knowledge, see." 

     "I can't believe you guys." 

     "Hey, it's better than a cage fight," Sturges defended, grinning. "And hey, as long as it's a consensual, healthy relationship, where's the harm?  Livens up the gossips." 

     MacCready shook his head. "Nora and Hancock aren't happening," he said, "They're not each other's type." 

     "They're both violent vigilantes with mild chem addictions," Piper argued, "It'll happen." 

     "Nora's a two hundred-year-old housewife looking for her kidnapped baby," MacCready shot back, "I mean, what happens when she finds him?  Does Hancock seem like the domestic daddy type to you?" 

     "If they don't end up together soon, and I mean, really soon, I'll give you that private interview, MacCready," Piper said, "Count me in Sturges." 

     "I look forward to getting to know each other better." 

 

     "You falling asleep over there, Sunshine?" 

     Nora shifted in her seat and mumbled something unintelligible, eyes closed and head tilted back towards the sky.  

     "Come on," Hancock said, standing and holding a hand out to her. "You don't want to fall asleep out here." 

     Nora opened her eyes and gave him a sloppy grin. "Are you offering to take me to bed, Mr. Mayor?" 

     "As if Dogmeat would scoot over and let me in," he replied dryly.  She let out a loose, drunk laugh and took his hand.  The party had finally begun to break up as settlers drifted away to their houses and radios were clicked off.  A quiet calmness was falling over the neighborhood and Nora scrubbed a hand over her face before making her way inside and to the chem cooler she kept on the counter. 

     "Didn’t you already take some earlier?" 

     She looked up to see Hancock leaned back against the door frame, silhouetted by pale moonlight.  His body language said casual but his dark eyes were crinkled in concern. 

     "Yeah, and?" Nora tensed and looked away from him, her fist closed around the little syringe. 

     "Look, obviously I could care less if you wanna take the occasional recreational hit," Hancock replied, "But 'recreational' is the key word there.  You ain't having fun with 'em, are you?" 

     "The fuck do you care?" Nora snapped, her temper flaring suddenly.  She saw him flinch but he closed the distance between them and took her hands, slipping the syringe from her grasp and letting it fall to the floor. 

     "We're friends, ain't we?  I care about you and I'm just making a suggestion that maybe you should slow down a tad." 

     Nora pulled her hands away and refused to meet his eyes. "When you come up with a better way to get rid of the nightmares, let me know." 

     She bent and scooped up the Med-X, then turned and stalked down the hallway to her bedroom.  Dogmeat was curled up on the foot of her bed, snoring lightly.  Nora sighed and stabbed the needle into her thigh, then undressed and crawled into bed.  She stared at the wall, jaw set stubbornly as she mulled over Hancock's words.  She'd told herself once that she wouldn't use a chemical crutch, but the more time she spent in the hell that was the wasteland, the less she wanted to keep that promise to herself.  She traveled with whoever she could to have someone to talk to, but inevitably, they both had to sleep and that was when they hit.  The dying screams of Raiders she gunned down, the click of mirelurk claws, the sound of Kellogg laughing, Nate yelling, Shaun's terrified screams.  She could deal with the Med-X hangover and the sluggishness she felt every morning, but she couldn't deal with all the sounds in her head and the memories that ran like a video on a loop.  She had good friends to make the days bearable but the nights were a bottomless cesspool she couldn't tread while sober. 

     It was still dark out when she was jolted awake by the wail of the emergency siren. 

 


	30. Should've Worn Pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather graphic chapter since I'm a horrible person with a dark, twisted mind. An animal attack and the aftermath, so if that's a trigger for you, just skip down to the bottom and read the summary.

    Nora stumbled out of bed in the dark and reached for her handgun on the side table as the siren continued to wail.  She could hear Dogmeat barking distantly and settlers screaming.  She scrambled for a clip of ammo in her pack on the ground as Codsworth came rushing in. 

     "What's going on?" 

     "Oh, Miss Nora, it's Super Mutants!  They're coming across the bridge!" 

     "Get anyone unarmed out of the way," Nora ordered, "There's our cellar and the one next door.  Go!" 

     "Ma'am, you seem to have forgotten your pants!" Codsworth called after her as she ran out the door, handgun lifted.  Nora swore under her breath as the breeze fluttered the tails of her flannel shirt around her thighs, then realized that she had also forgotten her shotgun and boots. 

     "I'm not sure that's the best way to promote the Minutemen," Preston said as he joined her on the pavement and handed off a spare shotgun. 

     "We'll worry about that when we get rid of these walking snot bubbles --" 

     She was interrupted by a low whistle and a flash of light seconds before Preston pushed her to the ground.  Debris flew into the air and clattered to the ground nearby, the flames lighting up the settlement.  The house next to them was burning, one wall collapsed inward, the twisted metal remains of two machine gun turrets smoking amongst the debris.  Nora forced herself to her feet and ran toward the shouting of angry Super Mutants.   

     "Time to die!" 

     Nora cocked the shotgun and fired twice into the lumbering mutant's chest as he swung a bladed board at her.  The mutant yelled in pain when the shot hit his chest plate and knocked him back a few inches.  Someone grabbed Nora's arm and yanked her aside into the cover of one house. 

     "Are you crazy?" Piper yelled in her ear, "Blue, you're going to get yourself killed charging them like that!  Where are your pants?" 

     Nora leaned around the wall and took another two shots, then ducked back into cover. "We'll discuss my fashion choices later," she snapped, "I'm almost out of ammo." 

     "I got you covered."  Hancock crept around the edge of the house, carrying her gun belt and shotgun as one of the remaining turrets spat out a volley of bullets into the party of mutants.  The gunfire pushed them back towards the bridge and a rifle cracked out a shot.  A mutant's head exploded in a shower of blood and bone as the body fell to the ground.  Nora glanced around for the source of the shot and saw MacCready knelt on a roof behind them with his rifle. 

     "I think you should renew the kid's contract," Hancock muttered to her as she buckled her gun belt on, "You doing alright?" 

     "I'll be a hell of a lot better when these fuckers are dead and I can go back to sleep," Nora replied, "Do we know if anyone's been hurt yet?" 

     Hancock answered but she couldn't hear it over another small explosion as a missile hit a generator.  The last of the machine gun turrets gave up in a shower of sparks and smoke and the mutant horde started to advance. 

     "Mac, you have to take out the one with the missiles!" Nora yelled over the pandemonium.  Bullets slammed into the steel walls of the house, the metallic ringing reverberating painfully on her eardrums.  She glanced around the edge of the house during a momentary lapse in the spray of bullets, then fired off two shots.  Three rifle shots rang out and the missile-carrying mutant dropped like a stone on the pavement. 

     Nora let out a sigh of relief and jumped from the cover of the house with her own shotgun.  The mutants were scattered and losing ground, moving through the settlement haphazardly as settlers and Minutemen tried to drive them off.  They had done something smarter than Nora would have expected, catching them in the dark when no one was paying attention or truly prepared, with the general pants-less and fighting the haze of painkillers, but she couldn't let them get the upper hand.   

     Taking down mutants with her shotgun wasn't hard, but the nature of the weapon made it close-quarters only and often resulted in spreading damage to beings or objects in the general vicinity of whatever she shot.  She stopped and pushed the butt into her shoulder, searching for an opening that wouldn't end up catching a settler or a Minuteman, too.  She squeezed the trigger and the shot hit a mutant's arm, blasting away his makeshift armor as he roared in pain and anger.   

     "Nora, look out!" 

     She turned towards the voice just as something large and green launched itself at her, knocking her to the ground roughly.  The mutant hound opened its massive jaws and reached for her face but she swung her shotgun up and knocked it away.  The hound lost its purchase momentarily but was back on her before she could stand, its muscled body pinning her to the ground as strings of saliva dripped from its jaws.  She lifted the shotgun again but it latched onto it like a puppy with a stick, the metal and wood caught in its enormous teeth.  Her biceps burned as she struggled to shove the dog off, grunting in pain when its claws began to dig into her chest.  As a last-ditch effort, she let go of the shotgun and shoved the heel of her palm into the animal's nose.  It let out a snarl and lurched back just enough that she could twist out from under it.  She was almost on her feet again when it latched onto her leg and she let out a desperate scream. 

 

     Hancock was ducking out of the way of a falling mutant body when he heard Nora scream.  It wasn't the usual shout of frustration and anger he heard when they were in a fight, but one of true terror and pain.  The last of the mutants was fending off a group of settlers as he searched desperately up and down the road for her, finally spotting the vaultie held to the ground by one of those smelly hounds.  It had a hold of her leg and she was covered in blood. 

     "Nora!" MacCready hopped down from his perch on the roof and joined Hancock to sprint towards her.  The mutant unlatched its jaws from her to turn and snarl at them; MacCready took a shot but missed and the animal lunged at them.  Hancock swung the butt of his gun at its head; it stumbled and shook but took another lunge and knocked him backwards.   

     The air left his lungs with a sharp gasp as he hit the pavement.  He squeezed the trigger of his shotgun and caught the dog along its side.  MacCready ran up and fired again; this time the bullet hit the mutant hound square between the eyes and it dropped to the ground, tongue lolling and bits of brain matter splattered in the dirt. 

     "Oh, god." 

     Hancock forced himself back up, sucking in gulps of air as his heart dropped to his knees.  Nora was propped up on one elbow just feet away, her legs covered in blood and her face gray and sweating.  Her hands were shaking.  MacCready stood still as a statue, wide-eyed like a shell-shocked kid. 

     "Go make sure no one else is hurt," Hancock growled, shoving the mercenary roughly to the side.  He stumbled a moment and then jogged off to do as he'd been told.  Preston came limping up, his hat askew and duster splattered with mutant blood. 

     "Do you know where Curie is?" He asked, breaths ragged. "She's the only one with any medical training..." 

     "No, but she's going to bleed out if we don't do something quick," Hancock replied, bending to lift her up.  As he hoisted her against him, knees bent over his arm, she let out a cry of pain, gripping the front of his shirt with white-knuckled hands.  Preston’s eyes flicked down to the chunk of flesh hanging off her thigh and he blanched.  

     "Over to the tables," he said, pointing towards the common area. "Lay her down and we can try to stop the bleeding.  Codsworth, find Curie!" 

     "I'm here," Curie said, her voice oddly mechanical.  She floated towards them, bobbing and swaying unevenly like a drunk.  Two dark holes in her chassis sparked and smoked. 

     "What do we do?" Preston asked as Hancock deposited Nora onto a worn picnic table as gently as he could.  Blood had soaked her entire left side and was all over his arms; she had gone gray and her chest heaved with ragged breaths and painful sobs. 

     "You m-m-must apply – must apply pressure to the w-w-wounds to staunch the bleed-bleeding," Curie said, voice buzzing like a generator about to die. "Clean ban-ban-bandages and a Stimpak.  Clean the wooooound in case – in case of infection.  She will need stitches and..." 

     With a last spark and shudder, the Miss Nanny collapsed into a heap at Preston's feet. 

     "Dammit," Preston exclaimed, "Someone has to go find a doctor or at least a trader with Stimpaks.  The missiles took out our supply room." 

     "I'll go," Piper joined them, "The caravans shouldn't be too far from here.  If I hurry I can catch up to them." 

     "I'll accompany you, Miss Wright," Codsworth chimed in, "We can't have anything happening to you on the road." 

     "Just fucking get moving!" Hancock snapped.  Piper and Codsworth took off for the bridge and Preston made for Nora's house to grab supplies.  Hancock took a deep breath and looked down at Nora, who was still shaking and silent except for her labored breathing.  The bite marks stretched from her knee to her hip, huge puncture wounds with hound teeth stuck in them and massive slashes where the flesh hung loosely.  He could see muscle and bone amongst all the blood.  

     "Something finally got me," she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear over the commotion of scared settlers. "I guess I should have put on my pants..." 

     "Just relax," Hancock replied, fighting back an uncharacteristic panic.  Preston had returned with several bottles of purified water, Vodka, and a wad of clean cloth.  MacCready joined them, the color returned to his face. 

     "You're going to drink _now_?" 

     "This is to clean out the wounds," Preston replied, setting down the Vodka. "Here, help me clean away the blood." 

     The two men dumped the water on her, wiping away the blood as Hancock pressed the cloth to the wounds that were still bleeding.   

     "Not the feel-up I'd been imagining," Nora stuttered before stiffening with a gasp of pain, "I was hoping we could – could do it in private --" 

     Some part of Hancock wanted to laugh but his heart was still thudding furiously against his chest.  Nora and her mouth, glib as ever even though she had just narrowly escaped the literal jaws of death and still wasn't totally out of the woods. 

     “Nora, we have to clean these bites and get the teeth out,” Preston said, using the bandages to wipe away the last of the blood. “I’m going to give you some Med-X but this will hurt." 

     Nora didn’t respond.  Preston stabbed the syringe into her side and depressed the plunger as Nora’s nails dug into the sensitive skin of Hancock’s wrist.  

     “Breathe,” he said, watching apprehensively as Preston wet some bandages with the bottle of vodka.  That wasn’t going to be pleasant.  

     He pressed the alcohol-soaked bandage to the largest gash and Nora seized as if she’d been electrocuted, a sharp scream ripping out of her as she twisted away.  

     “Hold her down,” Preston instructed, “Hancock, you stay there.  MacCready, hold her legs." 

     Hancock and MacCready did as instructed, eyes meeting over Nora’s bloody form once.  Hancock moved a hand to Nora’s sweaty forehead, pushing damp strands of hair aside.  She was shaking and clammy.  Preston pressed another wad of wet bandages into Nora’s wounds and then pried a two-inch tooth from a hole near her hip.  Hancock counted six more teeth that still had to be removed. 

     Nora looked up at him and then her face twisted into another scream.  Her chest heaved and she tried to say something, but then her eyes rolled back and she went limp, face drained of color. 

     "Is she alright?" MacCready asked, voice an octave higher.  Hancock leant over her for a moment, listening for a breath, and then nodded. 

     "Yeah, I think she's just passed out." 

     "We're going to need tweezers," Preston said, "And a needle to stitch her up.  And lots of thread." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super Mutants attack Sanctuary; Nora gets mauled by a mutant hound; Preston, Hancock, and MacCready have to patch her up since Curie is too damaged to work on her and their Stimpak supply was destroyed. I apologize for the second cliffhanger in a row but I really can't help myself.


	31. Recover, Rebuild, Replace

      Nora couldn't stop pacing.  The lights in the hallway had long been dimmed and the buzz of activity had faded to the occasional squeak of sneakers on linoleum and the clang of the elevator doors.  She hadn't slept in – fuck, maybe going on forty hours? -- but she only felt buzzed, jittery, mind racing like that time in law school when she'd almost OD'd on Mentats. 

     "Thirsty?" 

     Nora jumped when Jake appeared beside her, holding out a Nuka Cola.  She sighed and shook her head, then resumed her pacing.  She could feel a blister forming on her right heel where her damn shoe was just a tad too tight. 

     "Why don't you sit down and relax for a few minutes." 

     Nora stopped and glanced over at Jake, who was giving her that same look Nate always did.  That gentle stare, eyebrows raised and eyes wide, the look that said "slow down to human speed and get a grip." 

     "I can't relax." 

     "Sure you can," Jake replied, "If Nate was going to die, he would have done it in Anchorage, not waited to go into surgery there, then flown all the way home and gotten taken in for a second surgery --" 

     "I get the point," Nora said, holding up a hand to stop him.  She blew out a heavy breath and fell into the hard plastic chair beside him.  He held out the Nuka again and she took it, popping off the top and downing half. 

     "My nephew is going to be born with a sugar addiction, the way you've been pounding down the soda and Fancy Lads." 

     "And who is it that buys them for me?" Nora answered, trying to smile.  Jake put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed.  She let out another heavy breath and felt the sudden burn of tears behind her eyes.   

     Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.  Now was _not_ the time to lose control. 

     A much-needed distraction came in the form of Dr. Lewis, emerging from the double doors that lead toward the operating suites.  He looked as tired as Nora felt but smiled encouragingly when she jumped to speak to him. 

     "Nate's doing fine," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't come out earlier, but he took a little longer than expected to come back from the anesthesia.  I didn't want to speak to you until I was sure he'd be out of the woods." 

     "Why would he have trouble with the anesthesia?" Nora asked, her voice and heart rate jumping a little. 

     "He's been pretty heavily sedated for the last week," Dr. Lewis replied, "There's a lot of drugs in his system.  It's like waking up in the middle of a dream – takes longer to get back to the surface." 

     "Can we go see him?"  

     "Just one at a time for now." 

     Jake nudged Nora's shoulder. "Go on.  I need to call Mom and Dad." 

     Nora gave him a quick one-armed hug and then hurried off with Dr. Lewis.  He lead her back through the double doors and down another hallway before stopping in front of a half-open door.  The room inside was dark and silent except the gentle beep of a heart monitor. 

     "He'll probably be kind of loopy for a while.  Hit the call button if you need anything." 

     Nora nodded and stepped gingerly through the doorway.  She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust before taking a few steps towards the big bed. 

     "I can always hear you coming.  Those heels clicking." 

     Nora stopped at the bed rail and grasped Nate's hand. "They make me look taller than I am." 

     He let out a short chuckle, a tired, scratchy sound underset with pain. "You're six months pregnant.  Time to switch to flats.  You'll ruin your feet." 

     "High heels can't ruin them any more than ballet did," Nora replied, reaching and brushing the hair away from his forehead.  It was longer than he'd usually kept it the last few years, accompanied by a week's worth of stubble.  He'd lost weight; she could see his cheeks were sunken and his eyes looked unusually big in his face. 

     "Always a counter-argument.  That's why you're a great lawyer." 

     Nora smiled and sat down in the chair next to his bed, still holding his hand.  He was home.  He was hurt and there was a lot of recovery needed in the months ahead, but he was home. 

     "Jake is here," she said after a few moments, "Do you want to see him?" 

     "Not yet," Nate responded, squeezing her hand. "Just...just stay with me." 

 

     She felt the pain before she had even dragged her eyes open.  Deep, stabbing pain that ricocheted up and down her left side and made her skin tingle and burn.  She was lying in a bed, wrapped in stiff bandages and covered with a tattered blanket, but all she could focus on was the pain that wracked her body and made her stomach flip. 

     "Easy, sunshine." 

     Familiar voice and the familiar pressure of long, gnarled fingers on her shoulder, steadying her as she rolled to her side and gripped the mattress with shaking fingers. 

     "What happened?" She gasped out weakly, searching for a distraction. "Where is everyone?" 

     "Everyone's alright," Hancock replied, "Super Mutant raid.  No one but you was really hurt." 

     _Fuck._ Nora squeezed the mattress tighter and buried her face in the musty cloth.  That fucking slobbering hound.  She'd forgotten to put on her armor and then that green mutt had used her as a chew toy.  And then three men – and probably half the fucking settlement, too – had seen her screaming and bleeding in little more than her underwear.  Fucking _perfect._  

     "Breathe, sunshine." 

     "Just take the leg," Nora seethed through clenched teeth, "It'll hurt less.  Nate and I will be a matching pair." 

     Hancock didn't respond, but pressed a Jet inhaler into her hand. "I know it ain't exactly what you need, but we've used all your Med-X and the muties destroyed the supply room." 

     The fuck-you cherry on top the shit sundae.  Nora let out a slow breath and pressed the inhaler to her lips and squeezed.  It burned but that faded quickly.  She could feel her heart rate slow to a crawl, the stabbing in her leg matching it.  The room spun slowly and she gripped the mattress as her brain slipped slowly back into sleep. 

 

     Preston knelt next to the mutant hound's body, pressing his scarf over his mouth and nose to block out the smell.  The whole settlement smelled like rotting mutant but it was particularly pungent up close. 

     Nora's shotgun was under the body.  He grabbed the butt of the gun and pulled, wiggling and wrenching it out with a muttered oath.  He stood to inspect it in the light before sighing.  The wood stock was splintered and cracked and the barrel punctured through in several places.  The trigger guard had bent almost ninety degrees and the whole thing was sticky with blood and saliva.  It wasn't much good for anything but scrap. 

     She was going to be pissed.  She loved that gun.  It had been her primary weapon for months since she'd taken it off a dead Raider; she worked well with it and had even added the full stock herself, complete with a crooked "N.W." carved into the wood. 

     "Are you alright?" Lucy came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  He let out a heavy breath and shrugged. 

     "I just peeked in on her," Lucy said, "She's still asleep but doing okay." 

     "They destroyed it," Preston said, eyes scanning the settlement.  More than half the work he and Nora, and Sturges, and the dozen or so other settlers living there had spent months on, reduced to smoking scrap heaps in less than an hour.   

     He wanted to feel disappointed, but unfortunately, that was too familiar.  Story of his life.  Build it up, get it going good, then watch Raiders/Super Mutants/Ferals/Gunners wreck it in a fraction of the time had taken to create.   

     "It's just stuff," Lucy spoke up, lacing her fingers in his. "Stuff can be replaced." 

     Preston squeezed her hand and pressed a kiss to her temple.  That was what he loved about her; she always seemed to know what he was thinking and what needed to be said. 

     "No sign of Piper or Codsworth?" 

     "Not yet," Lucy replied, "I think Amelia went into Concord to look around and make sure she didn't get ambushed there." 

     Preston nodded.  Amelia was young, barely eighteen, but Nora had personally recruited her from Goodneighbor several months back.  She'd caught the girl trying to pickpocket her and offered her a place in the ranks.  She wasn't very good with a gun but she had turned out to be an excellent scout – small and lithe, able to blend in, and smart as a whip. 

     "I'm going to scrap this," Preston said, looking down at Nora's shotgun. "See if I can find her a replacement." 

     Lucy nodded and gave him a quick kiss before he trudged down the road to the makeshift workstation Sturges had set up.  The old picnic tables were covered with bits of junk and metal, intermixed with scraps of paper on which he'd scribbled notes and lists in nearly illegible handwriting.  The man himself was bent over the shell of Curie, back hatch opened as he prodded at something. 

     "Good news is, I can get her running again," he said before Preston asked, "Her circuit boards are all intact.  The mutants took out her power core, though, and unfortunately, she runs on an old fuel-based system, unlike Codsworth, who was built to use fusion cells..." 

     Sturges continued to talk, pointing out various mechanical bits inside Curie's chassis, but very little made sense to Preston.  He'd never understood electronics or anything mechanized, despite his old friend's many attempts to teach him.  

     "...I'm going to make it a priority since she's the closest thing we've got to a doctor here." 

     Preston nodded in agreement and grabbed a screwdriver, then sat down to work on Nora's shotgun.  He ran a thumb over her initials in the stock and then smiled to himself.  He couldn't fix it for her, but he had a great idea for a replacement.


	32. Fever Dream

     "...and then we were going to take a shortcut through Hangman's Alley, but there were Raiders all over the place at that bridge there," Piper fell heavily onto the couch in Nora's living room, rubbing her temples.  She looked like she hadn't slept or eaten at all in the three days since the Super Mutant attack. 

     "Raiders in Hangman's Alley?" Hancock asked, looking up at her sharply. "What were they doing there?" 

     "I assume they were...being Raiders?" Piper replied, eyebrows lifted. "Killing innocent people, huffing Jet, being jerks.  What else do Raiders do?" 

     "Never mind." 

     "Nora could probably use those Stimpaks right about now, Piper," Preston interrupted pointedly.  Piper nodded and stood, reaching into her coat pockets. 

     "Geez, I hate needles," she muttered, pulling a face. 

     "Then let someone else do it," MacCready replied, "It's not hard.  Point and stab." 

     "I've _got_ it," Piper said, "All of you need to shoo." 

     She faced the room of men with her hands on her hips, glaring at them intensely. 

     "There's entirely too much testosterone in this place," she continued, "I don't care if you are her best friend or faithful employee or whatever the hell you count as Hancock, you're all men and you need to scram.  Give the woman a little privacy, for crying out loud." 

     With that, she turned and marched down the hallway towards the room where Nora slept.  The four men stared in shock and mild offense. 

     "What about Dogmeat?  He's a guy," MacCready called after her.  

     Piper shot him a look before disappearing into the room. "Didn't he already snap at you for trying to get him to go outside?" 

     Nora's room was dark except for the little lantern on her side table that threw yellow light in a small circle.  Nora was prone on the bed, face half-hidden in the mattress and blanket pulled up to her chin.  Piper grabbed a bucket from the corner and up-ended it to sit on, ignoring Dogmeat's glare from under the bed.  

     "Blue?" Piper whispered, "Nora?  You doing alright?" 

     She put a hand on Nora's shoulder to rouse her and felt the other woman shivering underneath the blanket despite the summer heat. 

     "Geez, Blue, you're not looking so good," Piper muttered, pushing back the blanket to poke the Stimpak into Nora's shoulder.  Her skin was flushed and warm and her eyes were twitching and darting back and forth behind closed lids.  She seemed to be dreaming rather vividly, occasionally mumbling incoherently. 

     "I hope this helps," Piper set the remaining Stimpak on the side table, frowning in worry. "Don't go anywhere, alright?  You and ol' Nick are about the only friends I've got." 

 

     Hancock had always been somewhat of an insomniac, probably the result of an inherent, ever-present anxiety and over a decade of regular chem use, but even he drifted off once Piper had assured everyone Nora was still asleep and reminded them she'd be pissed if she found out they'd dawdled around her sick bed.  After a quick hit of Jet and a smoke, he found himself slumped onto her ancient couch, nodding off in the silence of the settlement. 

     He didn't know how long he'd been asleep when Dogmeat jumped up on the couch next to him and nipped his hand.  The shepherd's body was tense and he jumped down as soon as he saw Hancock was awake, letting out a series of low whines.  Hancock sat up and looked around, expecting Sanctuary to be under attack again, but everything was quiet.  Dogmeat grabbed his sleeve and pulled, then disappeared into the dark hallway. 

     "Nora?"  

     Her bed was empty, the blanket half-off the bed as the lantern burnt low.  

     "Nora?" 

     "I'm right here." 

     Hancock turned and glanced into the other room across the hallway.  Nora was sitting in the corner, her head against the wall and legs stretched out in front of her.  Dogmeat whined once more and went to hide under her bed as if he was afraid of her.

     "What're you doing down there?" 

     "I was looking for the stash," she mumbled, "I know you didn't think I knew and I wasn't sure what to say..." 

     Hancock knelt next to her. "What're you talking about, Nora?" 

     "I can't get the bottle open." 

     She pushed something small and round at him.  He squinted in the dark and saw she had handed him a small plastic bottle, clear, filled to the top with large white pills.  A small square of wall paneling was missing next to where Nora sat.  He stared a little harder at the bottle's faded, yellowing label.  There were a lot of words he didn't recognize, but the date was pre-war and, in smudged ink, was the name Nathaniel Wilson. 

     "Uh, sunshine, I don't think these are going to be any good," Hancock said, setting the bottle aside. "Come on, I've got a Stimpak with your name on it." 

     "Why did you put them in Shaun's room?" Nora asked, batting his hand away as he reached to help her stand up. "He's just starting to crawl..." 

     She let out a heavy sigh and thumped her head back against the wall.  Moonlight caught her face for a moment and Hancock saw that her eyes were puffy and red like she'd been crying.  _Shit._  

     "Come on, Nora," he said, grabbing her hand and slinging her arm over his shoulder. "You can't sit here on the floor and hallucinate all night." 

     "I'm not hallucinating," she protested as he lifted her.  She felt unusually warm against him. 

     "I'm pretty sure you are," Hancock replied, tamping down all the weird feelings that rose up his chest.  He set Nora back down on her bed gingerly and stood to look around for the extra Stimpak Piper had left behind.  He found it in the drawer of her side table and uncapped the syringe as Nora mumbled something he didn't understand. 

     "Here," he said, poking the Stimpak into the flesh of her upper arm.  Her skin was flushed, sweaty, and burning to the touch.  He waited with her for several minutes and watched as her eyes slipped closed again before standing to leave. 

     "John." 

     She said the word without opening her eyes.  He froze, waiting to see if she said anything else, and she let out a heavy breath and turned to blink at him. 

     "John," she repeated, "Are you okay?" 

     "I'm good, sunshine," he answered, leaning against the wall to put distance between them. "You were having some kind of fever dream.  Stimpak seems to have perked you right up." 

     Nora put a hand to her forehead and frowned. "You were right." 

     "About what?" 

     "I haven't been using to...have fun.  I haven't been drinking to have fun." 

     "Nora, get some rest," Hancock said, "You don't need to apologize to me, especially not right now." 

     "I want to." 

     "It can wait," he replied, "You've been through the ringer.  Don't push yourself right now." 

     She shifted and fixed him with one of those penetrating gazes she was so good at, her eyes large and soft above pink-tinged cheeks. 

     "This is the soberest I've been in weeks, John," she whispered, "I've been dreaming about all the things that drive me to drink and shoot up and it hurts.  My body hurts and my heart hurts and sometimes I don't think I can handle one more memory without losing it, but every time I wake up, you're here." 

     "I told you, sunshine," Hancock said, "I care about you." 

     "I know," she said, nodding and letting out a heavy breath. "Thank you."


	33. One Hell of a Friend

 

     Hancock was avoiding her. 

     Nora dropped into a chair along the cul-de-sac and blew out a heavy breath.  Her leg was throbbing even though she had barely hobbled a few hundred feet from her front door.  Curie had been babbling something about nerve damage and sepsis but she hadn't listened much, not caring a whole lot about the details of her injury and waiting to give her the slip.  She'd gotten her opportunity when a minor emergency with one of the settlers diverted Curie's attention, but every time she managed to limp within Hancock's line of vision, he pretended not to see her and sauntered away.   

     She was sure he thought he looked casual, but she'd picked up on his tells long before they got to this point.  He'd tip his hat down so his face was harder to see, fiddle with something so he looked busy – maybe pop an extra Mentat or light a second cigarette before he was really done with the first.  Now he was standing in the mutfruit orchard, pretending to look for new fruits that needed to be picked and steadfastly ignoring the dirty look she threw him.   

     She shifted in her seat and huffed, tipping her own hat down to block the fading afternoon sun from her eyes.  _Men._   Stubborn bastards in any century, it seemed. 

     "Miss Nora, are you anxious?" 

     Nora glanced up to see Duncan sitting a few feet away from her.  He was rolling a toy car around in the dirt absently, not meeting her eyes. 

     "I guess you could say that," Nora admitted.  It was a succinct way of explaining her combined problems of severe pain, opiate withdrawal, and romantic frustration, at least. 

     "Daddy says he gets anxious sometimes," Duncan replied, glancing up at her for a quick moment.  His blue eyes were identical to his father's; MacCready couldn't have denied the kid even if he wanted to. 

     "It happens." 

     "When he does, he shoots stuff," Duncan continued, "He used to sit on the roof and shoot the bugs." 

     Nora thought briefly that'd she'd like to kneecap Hancock.  See how fast he ran away from her after that. 

     "You should go shoot something, Miss Nora." 

     "I'd love to, sweetie," Nora replied, "But I'm not really getting around quick these days and those mutants destroyed my favorite gun." 

     "Daddy has an extra," Duncan said after a moment of contemplation, "And there's a ladder up to your roof." 

  

     An hour later, Nora found herself perched on her roof, leaning against the old ventilation shaft with a box of .308 ammo on one side and a five-year-old on the other.  Duncan had brought her the rifle himself, insisting that he knew how to unload it and put the safety on so he could cart it around without hurting himself.  It had taken Nora longer than she would admit to haul herself up the ladder with one leg still stiff and aching, but Duncan had waited patiently to follow her.   

     "Daddy says when I'm ten, I can have my own gun," he informed her as she loaded the clip and checked the scope. "But that's _five_ _years_ away." 

     "It'll go faster than you think," Nora replied, "Did you tell Preston I'd be shooting up here?" 

     Duncan nodded proudly. "Yeah.  He said to yell if you need anything." 

     Nora glanced sideways at the little boy and smiled.  He had already clapped his hands over his ears, watching her expectantly as she lined up the shot.  She waited until a bloatfly drifted lazily into her sights, held her breath, and squeezed the trigger. 

     "You got it!" Duncan whooped excitedly, jumping to his feet. "Can I go get it?" 

     "Careful, you're going to fall off the edge," Nora chided, maternal instincts jumping to the surface. "You sure you want to touch that?  It's probably in pieces." 

     "It's just a _bug._ " 

     "Alright, kiddo, go get the bug." 

     She shot at things for another hour, Duncan waiting excitedly next to her each time and then running to collect the bounty.  By the end of the clip, he had collected two bloatfly glands and a twitching molerat; evidence that Nora's sharpshooting skills had actually improved somewhat.  Even better, she had completely forgotten about John Hancock. 

     "You should go show your dad," Nora said, grimacing as the little boy held the molerat up by its tail for inspection.  The .308 had taken off its head completely but he didn't seem too fazed by the gore.  She wondered briefly if that was normal little boy behavior before a telltale gravelly voice called up to her from the ground. 

     "Nora?" 

     Dammit.   

     "Hi, Mr. Hancock!" Duncan hollered as he descended.  Spending time shooting with Nora seemed to have stripped away all the boy's previous inhibitions and he waved merrily at the Ghoul once he'd hopped off the last rung of the ladder. 

     "Hey, kid.  Your pop's looking for you." 

     "Bye, Miss Nora!" 

     "Tell your dad I'll clean his gun and bring it back in the morning," Nora replied, "Enjoy your trophies, kiddo." 

     Duncan sprinted off into the falling dusk and Nora let herself slump back onto the old metal box.  She was tired enough to fall asleep there but Hancock's presence just out of sight made her antsy. 

     "You gonna come down, sunshine?" 

     "No." 

     Silence.  Nora smiled grimly to herself.  He may have been taking advantage of her inability to walk fast enough to corner him, but two could play that game because she knew he had a thing about heights. 

     "Need a hand?" 

     "I'm not a cat stuck in a tree." 

     "Not what I meant, sunshine." 

     Nora scowled and peeked over the edge.  All she could see was the top of his hat and the haze of cigarette smoke around his head. 

     "If you're ready to stop avoiding me, then get your leathery ass up here," she ordered, "Otherwise, go away." 

     More silence.  After a moment, she heard the ladder creak and his face emerged over the edge of the roof. 

     "What is it with you and MacCready climbing around on the roofs constantly?" 

     "Best vantage points are up here," Nora said, "I'm amending my 'charge directly in and shoot up close' strategy in light of recent events." 

     Hancock nodded and settled down next to her.  They sat there in companionable silence for a few minutes, him finishing a smoke, her fiddling absently with the rifle draped over her lap. 

     "I wasn't purposely trying to avoid you," he said finally, "I just didn't know what to say." 

     "You can always start with 'Hello, Nora, how are you'." 

     Hancock sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "This is...tricky." 

     Nora bit back a reply and waited for him to continue.  She rarely turned down the chance to have the upper hand in a conversation, being a lawyer-general-vigilante and all, but this time she wanted to see what he'd say without her lead.   

     "Okay, you're right," he said finally, "I have been avoiding you.  Old habits die hard." 

     "What do you mean?" 

     "I'm not proud to admit it, but I've been running out on the good things I got for a long time," Hancock answered, speaking to the darkness instead of looking at her. "Running away seems to be what I do best." 

     "That's not true and you know it."

     "Well, to get where I am, I did an awful lot of runnin'," he said, "I had a life and a family in Diamond City.  I was human once and I ran from myself." 

     "What do you mean?" 

     "Well, you know Diamond City is anti-Ghoul, right?" 

     "Of course," Nora replied, "Because of Mayor McDonough." 

     "McDonough's my brother," Hancock said, "We grew up in this little shack on the river.  Moved to Diamond City when our parents had finally had enough of paying tribute to some Raider gang in the area." 

     Nora wrinkled her nose. "Well, we can't choose our family, I suppose." 

     Hancock let out a mirthless laugh. "S'pose not," he said, "I left after they threw out all the Ghouls.  Couldn't stand to be around _Mayor McDonough_ after that so I took off for Goodneighbor.  Spent my time drifting around and trying not to get stabbed by one of Vic's boys.  Watched a friend get kicked to death and then found that drug that turned me into a damn Ghoul." 

     "You know what it was going to do?" 

     "Oh yeah," Hancock replied with a dark smile, "I knew.  And I took it because I was tired of looking at the bastard in the mirror.  Years later and I've got a good thing going, let myself get comfortable and the shit hits the fan like it usually does.  Instead of dealing with it, I took off with you." 

     Nora didn't say anything, just leaned against him and covered his hand with hers. 

     "My point is," he continued after a moment, "I've been runnin' for a long time but it brought me to you." 

     He turned and looked at her for the first time, his face dark in the twilight.  His eyes were strangely expressive for being so dark and depthless. 

     "I don't want you to do what I did and destroy yourself, Nora," he said quietly, "You're too good to lose." 

     Nora nodded and closed her fingers around his, squeezing the gnarled flesh tight.  Her throat felt raw and dammit if she didn't feel like she was going to cry as everything inside threatened to burst forth in one go.  Hancock squeezed her hand and then pulled away momentarily to wrap his arm around her shoulder. 

     "You're one hell of a friend, sunshine." 


	34. Don't Run From Me

    Nora sighed and tossed aside the rag she'd been using to clean MacCready's rifle, letting her head drop onto her folded arms.  It was late enough that Sanctuary had fallen quiet as everyone drifted off to sleep.  A cool breeze filtered in through the open door and Dogmeat twitched when it ruffled his fur.  Nora rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms and stretched with a sigh. 

     She'd removed the leather cord carrying her and Nate's wedding rings and left it on the table.  The silver bands sat there, bright in the lamplight, forcing her to think about all kinds of things that made her head and chest hurt. 

     Nate would never have begrudged her happiness, she knew that without a doubt.  ' _Til_ _death do us part, so if I don't make it back, don't quit living._ She had been furious with him for telling her that two weeks before deploying for the first time – furious because how dare he suggest she could live without him, would ever want to invite someone else into her heart to take his place.  She'd been angry and terrified that he wouldn't come home after all and she'd be alone and missing half of herself. 

     ...and then the world ended. 

     Nora closed her eyes and struggled to not fall apart right there.  It felt too easy to love someone again.  She knew, objectively, that getting to this point had been anything but easy.  She hadn't been shot and mauled or developed a chem addiction because life in the wasteland was easy, but some days life as Nora Wilson the lawyer and wife and mother still seemed close enough to touch.  She had spent thirty years getting to be that person and then it was all gone in one rapid rush of hot air and choking dust.  Shouldn't she have grieved longer for everyone and everything she'd lost, especially her beloved husband?  Her mother had lost the love of her life after even less time than she had with Nate and yet she never replaced him and went to her grave wearing her wedding ring. 

     "Can't sleep?" 

     Nora looked up to see MacCready standing in her doorway. "Lot on my mind." 

     "Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain Ghoul, would it?" 

     She sighed. "Are we that transparent?" 

     "No, but that answers my questions," he replied, "Now I owe Piper." 

     "What?" 

     "Why are you sitting here instead of saying something to him?" 

     "I did," she admitted, looking away. "Didn't go over well and now I keep thinking...maybe...maybe I'm not as ready as I thought I was." 

     "Ready for what?" 

     "Moving on," Nora said, "I just feel like...like I shouldn't be so eager." 

     MacCready was quiet for a moment before blurting out, "That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard, Nora.  I expected better from you." 

     "What are you talking about, Mac?" 

     "Come on," he replied, "That's giving up and you know it." 

     "Giving up?  On what?" 

     MacCready sat down across from her on the floor and sighed. "Look, I understand what you're feeling," he said, "We both lost the best thing we had in the time it takes to blink.  Years with someone, all gone in an instant.  And it's hard to let it go even when you want to.  But you have to, because otherwise you're giving up on what's right in front of you, and you are anything but a quitter, Nora." 

     Nora eyed him, brow furrowed. "No offense, but you're surprisingly insightful for your age." 

     "I have my moments." 

     He stood and offered her a hand up, which she took gratefully.  

     "I saw him down by the river a few minutes ago." 

     Nora smiled and hugged the young mercenary before limping off into the darkness as quick as she could.  MacCready made his way back towards the common house to find Piper, who was stretched out  with a half-empty beer and a book borrowed from Nora.  

     "You were right," he said and tossed her a small pouch of caps.  She stared in confusion for a minute and then her eyes widened. 

     "No way!  Already?"  

     MacCready rolled his eyes and nodded towards the opposite window. "Give her a few minutes to get over there." 

     Piper stood and ran to the window, pressing her face against the glass.  "I can't see anything!" 

     MacCready hesitated a moment and then beckoned to her. "Come on." 

 

     Hancock was sitting on the old rock wall, one long leg dangling over the edge as the breeze fluttered his coattails.  Nora stood just out of sight and watched him for a few minutes before she gathered enough courage to step up.  She'd never done this before; things with Nate had always been simple and easy.  Nate was confident and straightforward, asking her out and even proposing without so much as a stutter, whereas Hancock projected a lot of cockiness he didn't actually feel, at least when it came to matters that didn't involve stabbing someone.  If they were going to move past this weird "just friends" thing they'd settled on earlier, it'd be up to her to make a move. 

     "John." 

     He turned and smiled when he saw her. "Thought you'd have called it a night by now." 

     Nora shook her head and joined him by the wall, leaning against the cold stone to take some of the weight off her chewed-up leg.  It was really beginning to throb, scrambling her thoughts and making it harder to remember the speech she'd prepared on the way over. 

     "John, I...I wanted to say..." She started, then closed her eyes and swore silently.  Fucking-A.  She'd stared down mob bosses and murderers in open court, been trapped in violent riots, wrestled a Deathclaw, stabbed heavily-armed Raiders and mercenaries, survived being mauled by giant mutated dogs...but she couldn't say "I love you" without stumbling over her own tongue. 

     "You alright there?" 

     She nodded and turned to look at him, taking in the face that was so utterly strange and wonderful, the face she'd woken up to every morning for weeks now.  She wanted to keep waking up to it no matter what he said, especially if she had to keep living in this damned wasteland. 

     Fuck it. 

     She took a step forward and grabbed his shirt, landing a heavy kiss against his thin lips.  He froze for half a second before relaxing and snaking his arms around her waist, his hands gripping her hips to pull her closer.  He was taller than her, but not so tall that she had to strain to reach him, and he smelled like a dizzying combination of tobacco and Jet and gunpowder.  Nora could feel herself start to soar when he pulled away roughly. 

     "Nora, you don't want this..." 

     She leaned her forehead against his and tightened her grip on his shirt. "John, please...don't run from me, too." 

     He let out a shaky breath and hugged her to his chest. "Are you sure?" 

     She nodded and kissed him again, letting herself drift along on the waves of relief and happiness overtaking her.  She hadn't felt this good in fucking _centuries._  

     "I wouldn't have expected this sort of lapse in judgement from you," Hancock murmured against her neck when they finally broke apart. "But I guess it works out in my favor." 

     Nora leaned into him and smiled. "Shut up, John." 

 

     Nora was already in bed when Hancock made it back to her darkened house, having opted to stay outside a little longer and contemplate his ridiculously good fortune.  He wasn't tired, quite the opposite, in fact, like he'd downed a full bottle of Daytripper laced with something warm and heady, but once he'd convinced himself it hadn't all been one big Jet hallucination, crawling into bed next to her sounded like a fucking fantastic idea. 

     As usual, Dogmeat was asleep next to her on the bed, his head on her hip.  He gave Hancock a wary look and huffed, settling himself in a very final gesture.  Hancock fished around in his pockets and came up with only a Jet inhaler and three shotgun shells, but he knew Nora always had jerky in one of her bags. 

     "Hey, pooch," he whispered, waving the treat. "Lookit.  Go get it." 

     Dogmeat hesitated a second and then jumped deftly off the bed and ran after his prize, which Hancock had tossed down the hallway. 

     "Sucker." 

     He closed the door and shed his coat as Nora rolled onto her back and blinked up at him with a grin. 

     "He's going to hate you for that." 

     "He'll survive," Hancock replied, climbing across the mattress to meet her lips. "This is my spot now." 


	35. Diplomacy

    Sanctuary Hills was almost picture-perfect in its busy peacefulness.  Nora sat in the shade of her old carport shucking corn, tossing the bare cobs into a basket and handing the husks to Duncan, who ran to feed them to the Brahmin penned up nearby.  Sturges was hammering away at something and in the woods behind her, Preston was teaching new recruits how to shoot.  The twang and pop of laser muskets and pipe pistols occasionally interrupted the easy hum and chatter of working settlers.  Hancock had taken Curie and Piper into Concord and Lexington to scavenge and MacCready was on guard duty, though everything had been blessedly quiet since the mutant raid. 

     Nora hummed along with the radio as she worked, at ease for the first time since she'd left the Vault.  She and Sturges had taken a look at the teleporter plans Virgil had drawn for her and although he'd made it clear he thought she was insane, he was confident he could build it.  Everything was starting to come together at last. 

     It wasn't until around noon that the vertibird appeared and landed next to the Red Rocket. 

     Nora dropped the cob she'd half-shucked and stood to squint at it, trepidation rising in her chest.  She couldn't make out the insignia on the tail but the soldiers in Power Armor – two of them, carrying laser rifles – were unmistakable.   

     "Miss Nora, who're they?" 

     "The Brotherhood of Steel," she replied, "Kiddo, why don't you head inside for a bit?  I think there's a Grognak comic on my counter you can take a look at." 

     "Are they bad guys?" 

     "No, they're not bad guys.  There will just be a lot of boring adult talk." 

     Duncan shrugged and loped inside as Nora grabbed her gun and hat and made her way down to the bridge where settlers had started to gather.   

     "You didn't piss them off recently, did you?" MacCready muttered in her ear as she made her way towards the front of the crowd. 

     "I might have," Nora responded and ignored Mac's sigh.  The two armored soldiers were approaching swiftly, accompanying an unarmed man between them.  Despite the heat, he was wearing a long coat and heavy combat boots and the look on his face – even from a hundred feet away – meant business. 

     "I'd like an audience with General Wilson immediately, if possible." 

     "You're looking at her," Nora replied, standing as tall as she could. "Who are you?" 

     The man took her in with barely-contained disdain.  She knew she looked ragged and ridiculous, barefoot and dressed in a scavenged dress that didn't cover all the stitches and bruises on her left leg, with a blood-spattered Minuteman hat perched over an unruly braid, but she refused to shrink from him.  At least she was armed and wasn't going to die of heat stroke. 

     "Elder Maxson, of the Brotherhood of Steel." 

     The man stepped forward and extended a hand, which Nora took with a pleasant smile.  He had a rough grip and she was pretty sure he was squeezing extra hard to try to intimidate her.  

     "What brings you to Sanctuary?" 

     Maxson eyed the mass of settlers and Minutemen standing behind Nora. "Is it possible to speak in private?" 

     Nora debated internally for half a second, then nodded, again smiling as pleasantly as she could. "Of course.  Bring one of your bodyguards along, feel free to keep the other here." 

     She turned and did her best not to limp noticeably as she walked away, MacCready at her back.  Preston had returned with his group of recruits and was openly staring at the Elder and the armored soldier accompanying him. 

     "I hope you know what you're doing, Nora," MacCready whispered in her ear before breaking off to let Preston take his place next to her. 

 

     "I originally sent a detachment to liaise with you at the Castle, but they were told you weren't currently in residence." 

     Maxson said the sentence with a noticeable tone of disdainful amusement.  Nora ignored him and settled herself into an old kitchen chair that wobbled under her weight.   

     "There was a Super Mutant raid here recently," she replied, "I try to visit any settlement that suffers damage to personally oversee repairs and rebuilding." 

     "Yes, your... _colonel_ said as much," Maxson said, "I'm glad to see you weren't overtaken by those abominations." 

     Nora resisted the urge to tell him she was pretty sure one such abomination had been skulking around the settlement looking for a fight in lieu of the milk of human kindness.  She also made a mental note to personally thank Ronnie Shaw for covering her at the Castle. 

     "Thank you," she said, "But let's get down to business.  To what do the Minutemen owe the pleasure of your visit?" 

     "I understand we have a common enemy." 

     "And who is that?  Raiders, Gunners, Super Mutants, ambitious molerats?  Unfortunately in our job of protecting the people of the Commonwealth, the Minutemen have made quite a few enemies." 

     "The Institute." 

     Nora bit the inside of her lip to keep her poker face intact. "What makes you think we're worried about the Institute?" 

     "If you aren't, then you should be," Maxson replied darkly, "But I have heard that you, personally, have a reason to hunt down and infiltrate the Institute." 

     "I do," Nora said, "And how does that concern the Brotherhood?" 

     "The Brotherhood has come to the Commonwealth specifically to cut out the cancer that is the Institute," Maxson declared, "You have inside information about the Institute and we have technological superiority.  A partnership could be mutually beneficial." 

     Nora sat back in her chair and locked gazes with Maxson.  He was a handsome, intense man and she could swear she'd heard his name somewhere before.  After a moment, she shook her head. 

     "No." 

     The silence after her statement was tense enough to cut through.  Maxson stared for a moment as if he'd misheard her. 

     "No?" 

     "No," Nora repeated, "I'm not interested in a partnership with the Brotherhood." 

     Maxson looked downright confused.  Nora smiled smugly and glanced at Preston, whose eyebrows were lifted so high they'd nearly disappeared into his hair. 

     "The Minutemen had a recent run-in with the Brotherhood recon team in Cambridge," Nora continued, "I'm not completely sold on your ideals or your methods in particular.  I don't have any frame of reference with which to judge your trustworthiness and I don’t necessarily want to destroy the Institute." 

     "Then what do you want with them?" 

     "That's my business," Nora responded, "No offense, Elder.  I appreciate your offer and I hope that the Minutemen and Brotherhood can coexist peacefully in the future for the benefit of the Commonwealth." 

     "If that's your final decision..." 

     "It is.  Are there any other issues we need to discuss?" 

     Maxson gave her what was most likely a sneer before nodding. "As a matter of fact, there is," he said with a tone that made it clear he was only acknowledging her power or rank because he had to, "Since you have made it clear in the past that Minutemen territory is off-limits." 

     Nora waited patiently.  She was used to this sort of treatment – her age, inexperience, and height made her prime targets for defense lawyers and state higher-ups that didn't like to play nice – so she had long ago perfected the art of looking like she hadn't noticed the attitude.  Good to know that the message she gave Paladin Danse had made it to the higher-ups, though. 

     "Part of the essential mission of the Brotherhood is to gather, document, and study pre-war technology," Maxson continued, as if Nora cared. "Our intel points to a cache of this kind of technology in the nearby Vault." 

     Nora almost laughed.  Was he asking her permission to search Vault 111?  Stooping to that level was obviously killing him, and for no reason, because she hadn't ever gone back there and couldn't care less if the Brotherhood dug the damn thing out of the hillside and carted it off. 

     "We haven't claimed Vault 111," she said after a moment, "Feel free to search to your heart's content.  You can even use the Red Rocket as a field base until you're done." 

 

     "I'd like to see what they're capable of without all that Power Armor." 

     "I wouldn't," Nora declared, toying with the hem of Hancock's coat. "I'd really rather they went back to wherever they came from." 

     "Where's the fun in that?" 

     Nora sighed and rolled to face him. "Have you always been this antagonistic?" 

     "You say that like it's a bad thing." 

     "I like a good gunfight as much as the next girl," Nora said, propping her head on one fist. "But there's this cool thing from my time called _diplomacy._   Maybe you've heard of it?  It's not as fun but it sometimes makes things a lot simpler." 

     "Diplomacy," Hancock repeated, pretending to think about it. "Is that along the same lines as stuff like _patience_ and _compromise_?" 

     "Exactly." 

     Hancock smirked and leaned in to kiss her. "Not really my style, sunshine." 

     Nora wanted to roll her eyes but he kissed her deep enough that her head began to spin.  He pressed one hand to the back of her neck to keep her close, the other circling around her shoulders as she leaned into him.  She snuck a hand up under his shirt and was about to go farther when Dogmeat let out a shrill bark from the living room. 

     "Did someone just knock?" 

     "Who the fuck cares?" Nora answered, shifting to put more of her weight against him.  She kissed him again and Dogmeat let out another insistent bark. 

     "Alright, alright," she muttered, letting go of Hancock. 

     "Let 'em keep knocking..." 

     Nora shook her head and forced herself off the bed.  The hallway was dark but she'd left the lamp in the living room on.  Dogmeat paced in front of the door anxiously and Nora wondered for a moment who in the world was knocking.  She was on a first-name, come-and-go-as-you-please basis with most of the settlement and very few ever dropped by after dark now that she had Hancock. 

     She swung open the door to see Paladin Danse standing on her doorstep, hand lifted to knock a third time.  Nora stared in astonishment for a moment as Dogmeat sniffed him suspiciously. 

     "What're you doing here?"  

     "Um, I wanted to ask if you had a spare screwdriver." 

     Nora frowned. "A screwdriver?" 

     "Yes, I was working on some Power Armor repairs and mine broke..." 

     "I think I have one," she said, "Are you with the research patrol?" 

     "Yes." 

     Nora stepped back and waved him inside, then made her way to the boxes of scavenged junk on her kitchen table.  

     "And you walked all the way over here to ask for a screwdriver?" 

     "I didn't wake you up, did I?" 

     "No, it's fine," she answered, rummaging through an old plastic crate of tools.  She was way behind on her sorting and scrapping. 

     "How did you injure yourself?" 

     Nora glanced sideways at the Paladin.  Dogmeat had deemed his scent acceptable and returned to his perch on the couch, leaving Danse standing in the entryway like an awkward teenager waiting for his prom date to appear. 

     "Mutant hound." 

     Danse's eyes softened with concern. "Scribe Haylen came with us.  I can ask her to come take a look at the wounds if you'd like." 

     "Thanks, but we just got a doctor in residence," Nora replied, "It wasn't that bad." 

     "It looks awful." 

     Nora glanced down at her leg.  Preston had told her he'd stopped counting at forty stitches; most of them were hidden by her dress but the angry purple and yellow bruises around each puncture and slash were hard to miss. 

     "It hurt like a bitch, but I'll live." 

     "You're awfully tough for your age." 

     Nora's hands closed around the screwdriver at the bottom of the crate.  She paused and gave Danse a rueful smile. 

     "Found my records in the Vault, huh?" 

     He nodded. "It's deplorable the types of experiments Vault-Tec did on unsuspecting citizens." 

     "I couldn't agree more," Nora replied, "Flat head or Phillips?" 

     "Sorry?" 

     "The screwdriver you wanted," Nora clarified, wanting desperately to get rid of him without being rude.  Even knowing he was a Brotherhood bigot and prone to preachiness, she still felt guilty about their one night stand and how she'd fantasized about Nate the whole time. 

     "Oh, uh...a flat head should --" 

     "Alright, sweetcheeks, you done chattin' out here or what?" 

     Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.  Nora hazarded a glance at Danse, who stood rooted to the spot staring at Hancock, who had emerged from the hallway bare-chested and leaned easily against the wall grinning at her.  Danse's eyes flickered briefly from him to Nora, who tried to look composed and normal, and his jaw dropped just a little.  Hancock smirked at the Paladin and Nora swore under her breath.  

     "Thank you, General," Danse said after a moment, his deep voice almost dripping with anger and disgust.  He turned and left without taking the screwdriver Nora had found for him. 

     "Damn, you'd think his ass was on fire." 

     Nora threw Hancock a dirty look. "You did that on purpose." 

     "I did not.  I was just curious what was taking so long." 

     "You did it on purpose and we both know it," Nora shot back, "Weren't we just discussing you being so damned antagonistic?" 

     "Hey, you can't expect me not to want to stake a claim," Hancock replied, wrapping his arms around her. "Ain't everyday a ghoul gets lucky at all, much less with a knock-out like you." 

     "You and your big mouth.  It's not like I'm after anyone else." 

     "No, but the tin can's got a massive hard-on for you." 

     Nora threw up her hands in defeat.  She hadn't understood the male brain two hundred years ago and probably never would.  Hancock planted a kiss on the back of her neck and several more on her shoulder, sending shivers down her spine. 

     "You're so immature." 

     "You're the one who fell for me." 

 


	36. Just Listen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A healthy serving of angst, a large dollop of fluff, and a pinch of semi-NSFW ghoul-lovin' to round it out. Bon appetit!

     "Madame, you really should wait a little longer to recover.  Six weeks is just not enough." 

     Nora held in her sigh and continued to pack. "Curie, if I stay here any longer, I'm going to lose my mind." 

     "Didn't you take off six _months_ after your last major injury?" 

     "Oh, not you, too," Nora sent Hancock a withering look, "That was an entirely different scenario.  I had birth complications, a newborn baby, and a disabled husband in a world where Raiders and Super Mutants weren't always knocking on my door.  Now I have some scars, a gun, and grenades.  The sooner I get back out there, the sooner I get back in the groove, the sooner I get my son back.  End of discussion." 

     "You have two guns." 

     Preston stood in the doorway carrying a long shotgun, a small smile on his face.  Nora responded in kind. 

     "You can't be encouraging her to go on the road already," Hancock dead-panned from the other side of the room.  Preston shrugged. 

     "I'm not encouraging anything," he replied, "I'm just giving her this." 

     He handed her the shotgun.  Nora took it gingerly, sucking in a breath when she saw the stock.  It was smooth, polished wood, with a silver inlay on each side – one a cap-sized Minuteman emblem, the other a similarly-sized Deathclaw in remarkable detail. 

     "Preston, this is beautiful," she gasped, "Did you do this?" 

     "I picked up the skills from an old-timer back in Quincy," Preston said, "Used all those silver spoons you brought back from one of your trips out." 

     Nora swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. "Thank you," she managed after a moment, "You're an artist, Preston." 

     "It's got a slightly longer range than your old gun, so you don't have to get so close," Preston replied, "And if you beat anyone with the stock, just wipe it off real good afterwards." 

     "I'll try to avoid that," Nora said with a smile, "Really, this is wonderful." 

     She gave him a one-armed hug, which he returned with a tired smile. "Just take care of yourself out there, okay?" 

     "I promise I'll be back in one piece." 

     "Madame, please allow me to accompany you, at least," Curie interrupted, "I would enjoy the chance to make more scientific observations and will be on hand in case of further injury." 

     "The more the merrier, Curie." 

     The little company set off shortly after, Curie floating ahead of Nora and Hancock while Dogmeat meandered through the ruins just out of sight.  It was another hot day, cloudless and sunny, but Nora breathed a sigh of relief to leave the confines of Sanctuary and be back out on the open road. 

     "You sure you're ready to find this thing?" 

     Nora nodded and laced her fingers with Hancock's. "I've been ready for a long time." 

 

     Nothing in the Commonwealth ever went as planned, so they only made it as far as Lexington that day.  After skirting a Raider gang in the old Corvega factory, they found shelter inside an old apartment building that provided a modicum of security and comfort.  Nora, who had begun to limp noticeably, fell asleep curled up inside her sleeping bag just as the sun went down, while Curie wandered back outside to "observe and document" the dead Ferals someone had rudely left in the street below.  Dogmeat followed soon after, leaving Hancock sitting by the blown-out skeleton of a window watching the two of them in the darkness. 

     He was riding out a Jet high when Nora began talking in her sleep.  At first it was incoherent mumbling, not uncommon since she'd sworn off the Med-X, but before long she began to sound more distressed.  Hancock glanced over at her and saw that her fingers were twitching and her face was pinched and pale.  She was breathing rapidly, drawing quick, ragged breaths as her eyes darted around behind closed lids. 

     "Nora?"  

     She muttered something that sounded like a name and jerked her arms to her chest.  Hancock knelt next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

     "Easy, sunshine," he murmured, "It's alright.  You're safe." 

     She muttered something else and let out a small cry, almost child-like, and her eyes snapped open.  She glanced around for a moment as if she didn't remember where she was and then relaxed slightly under Hancock's grip. 

     "Nightmare?" 

     She pushed herself up to sitting and nodded. "Yeah.  The Courser, he kept...changing.  First he was just some synth and then it was Kellogg and then Nate..." 

     She drew her knees to her chest and put her head down, letting out a shuddering breath.  Hancock caressed her shoulder warmly, unsure what, if anything, he should say.  Like that, she looked as small and vulnerable as the time he'd seen her rush out of the Memory Den to hide by the dumpsters, though thankfully she hadn't pulled a knife on him for startling her this time. 

     "I'm sorry if I woke you." 

     "I don't sleep as much as you smoothskins," Hancock reminded her, "Want to talk about it?" 

     Nora looked away. "You don't want to hear about my husband and all the weird dreams he's in these days." 

     "I want to hear about whatever bothers you." 

     Nora gave him a sad smile and hugged herself.  She stared into space for a while before speaking, her gray eyes dark like an impending storm. 

     "It was sheer fucking chance that Kellogg shot Nate and not me," she said finally, "We were having a completely normal day.  It was pretty early in the morning and we were just having breakfast and coffee while Codsworth changed Shaun.  Talked about going to the park before Nate was due to give some stupid speech at the Vet's Hall.  I went to get Shaun to nurse him and that's when Codsworth yelled at us that something was happening." 

     She stopped and took another shuddering breath, like she was steeling herself against an onslaught of tears.  Hancock waited, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and wondering if she had ever talked about that day before now. 

     "The sirens went off right then.  We took off for the Vault with me holding Shaun.  I still don't know how Nate kept up with me because he'd only just gotten the hang of walking more than a few feet with his prosthesis.  The bomb hit just as they took us down.  I could hear everyone behind us screaming and I was, too; Shaun was wailing at the top of his lungs and Nate was holding the both of us.  When we got inside and they closed the blast door, I was actually...not _happy_...but hopeful.  I knew that most everything was probably destroyed, but there were people in the Vaults, survivors.  Stuff can be rebuilt, lives can't.  That's when they gave us our Vault suits and led us down to the cryo chambers." 

     "I thought you didn't know you were going to be frozen." 

     "We didn't," Nora said, "They told us the pods were for _decontamination_.  Nate put on his suit and then took Shaun so I could put mine on.  Then they shoved us in and started the freeze.  If I hadn't told Nate, 'hey, hold the baby for me for a quick second', Kellogg would have shot me instead." 

     Hancock wanted to reply with, _T_ _hen we'd have never met and gone out on the road together and I'd be in a gutter getting gnawed on by_ _radroaches_ _,_ but held his tongue.   

     "You were dealt a shitty hand, love," he settled on, "No use in picking apart the details to think about what ifs.  I don't know about Nate, but if it had been me, I wouldn't want you torturing yourself that way." 

     She sniffed and nodded. "He would probably agree.  But every time I dream about someone I've had to kill, they always turn into Nate." 

     Hancock sighed internally and pulled her close to him.  They sat there together for a while, her back pressed against his chest, arms entwined as he breathed in the scent of her, and uncommonly clean smell that always reminded him how unique she was. 

     "Thank you," she said, "For letting me talk." 

     "Don't have to thank me for something like that." 

     "I do," she argued, "Everyone else offers platitudes or asks questions...I know they mean well and I know that it's hard to understand what the hell I'm rambling about.  I don't begrudge anybody their curiosity, but it's nice to have someone who just sits back and listens.  Only other one I have who does that is Dogmeat and talking to him constantly makes me feel like I'm going nuts." 

     "I rank up there with Dogmeat?  That's pretty high praise from you." 

     "You're a very close second," she teased, relaxing against him with her eyes closed and mouth upturned in a smile. 

     "I should remind you, there's a lot I can do for you that your beloved mutt can't." 

     "Is that so?" 

     "It's a well-known fact." 

     He hugged her tighter, pressing long kisses to the spot where her shoulder and neck met, the spot that always got her.  She let him kiss along the soft skin for a moment before turning and dragging his lips back up to hers.  He slid his hands down her sides to feel those lovely curves, the muscle that had gone a little soft during her recovery but made perfect handholds, and she responded with heavier breaths and sighs.   

     She whispered his name as he touched her and it made everything feel almost surreal.  Everything about her, from the sweaty strands of dark chestnut clinging to her neck to her rounded thighs – _fuck,_ those legs were something else – was unbelievably perfect.  He gripped her knee and hooked it around his waist as she leaned back and arched against his kisses.  She never hesitated to touch him or let him see every part of her and that in itself could almost undo him. 

     He was a damned selfish bastard to be glad her world and her life had been ruined, but in the midst of her, clothes abandoned, limbs entangled, muscles burning, he couldn't help it.  Karma had really dropped the ball to bring her here, with _him_  of all people, and he couldn't believe how well that universal fuck-up worked for him. 

     She dug her nails into his scarred shoulders and sent him over the edge.  He came undone and gripped her tight, trying to gasp out _I love you,_ but she covered his mouth with hers and kissed him like she knew it and wanted to say the same back.


	37. Take What's Needed

      Nora ducked behind an old desk as a grenade went off across the room, shaking dust from the rafters and sending debris flying in every direction.  She'd found the Courser's signal after wandering around Cambridge for an hour, then followed it into the old Greenetech building, which was full to bursting with Gunners.  They were already fighting something else, an adversary that had poked a bunch of holes in their defenses and left them scrambling, leaderless and clueless.  Nora and her companions managed to make it through most of them without trouble, but as they neared the top floor, the Gunners regrouped long enough to pin them down in a group of abandoned offices. 

     Dogmeat peeked around the edge of the desk and dashed to Nora's side, settling his head on her knee.  His muzzle was bloodstained and the fur on his right ear had been singed off, but he seemed uninjured otherwise.  Nora caught sight of the small scar on his muzzle and almost laughed.  They were just as fucked as when they'd been cornered in the old Vault trying to rescue Nick. 

     "All units to the top floor!  All units to the top floor!" 

     The  panicked order echoed through a modified speaker system the Gunners had rigged up, momentarily distracting the foot soldiers shooting at Nora's group.  Nora took advantage of the slip-up and jumped to fire at them.  Two shots hit the mark, knocking a Gunner to the floor in a spray of blood.  His partner let loose in Nora's direction, peppering the wall behind her as she ducked again to reload.  The Gunner swore loudly when her clip emptied, then dropped the piece and took off. 

     "Everything is so dangerous up here!" Curie exclaimed, abandoning her cover in an old utility closet. "Why are people so violent?" 

     "Because human nature doesn't change," Nora muttered, shaking bits of drywall out of her hair. "Hancock, you alright?" 

     "Never better, Sunshine," Hancock replied with a gravelly cough.  He was hunched slightly, holding one arm against his side, but Nora saw the blood leaking against his white shirt. 

     "You're a lousy liar," Nora said, "Lemme see." 

     "Just shrapnel from that grenade.  I'm alright.  Hurt worse when that kid tried to kneecap me." 

     "You gotta start wearing armor," Nora said, handing him a Stimpak. "You saw what happened to me." 

     "My ass doesn't look as nice as yours with those leg pieces." 

     Nora shook her head and shouldered her shotgun. "I'm banking that the Courser doesn't know we're here yet," she said, "If you guys can cover me down here, I'll head upstairs and take it by surprise." 

     "There's no way you're going up against it alone." 

     "I'm not expecting to go hand-to-hand.  Just get behind him and take it out with a headshot." 

     "And what if that messes up the chip in his head?" 

     "Then I'll stab it in the fucking heart," Nora replied through clenched teeth, "Just cover me, okay?  We're wasting time." 

     "I'm not a Minuteman, so I don't have to listen to your orders, love," Hancock said, "Dogmeat and Curie can wait here and alert us if anything happens or anyone shows up." 

     Nora rolled her eyes but nodded begrudgingly.  Hancock let her lead the way around the corner and up the last set of stairs before they stopped in front of a set of metal double doors.  They were locked, so Nora knelt and pulled a bobby pin from her hair. 

     "You didn’t mind taking orders from me last night." 

     Hancock smirked as Nora worked at the lock with her bobby pin and screwdriver.  Always had to have the last word, his sunshine. 

     "Finally," Nora whispered after a few minutes of fiddling.  The lock clicked and the doors popped apart a few inches.  She shoved them open a little farther, just enough to squeeze through them, and unhooked her 10mm from her gun belt.  The doors opened into a large room with a vaulted ceiling and a wide staircase that led to a second level.  Voices drifted down to them; one panicked and choking, the other coldly calm. 

     "Please, please, you don't have to kill me.  I don't know the code, I swear!" 

     "I think that you do." 

     A laser twanged and the man that had been pleading for his life let out a shrill yell of pain.  Nora beckoned to Hancock and led the way up the stairs, stepping gingerly so as not to make a sound.  As they neared the second level, she dropped to a crouch, gripping her gun with white knuckles. 

     "Give me the code." 

     "I told you, I don't know it!" 

     "Then you're of no more use to me." 

     Nora glanced around the edge of the wall she had taken cover behind just as the laser pistol went off again.  A gunner had been bound by the wrists and ankles and slumped against the wall, now sporting a gaping, smoking hole in his chest.  Beside him was a pile of faintly blue ash.  The female Gunner that had tried to corner them downstairs was sprawled nearby, also with a cauterized laser wound in her chest.  At a nearby terminal was a tall, broad, dark-haired man in a black leather coat and boots.  Nora stood cautiously and raised her gun, lining the sights as close to his spinal cord as she could approximate. 

     "You.  Come here." 

     She hadn't made a sound but the man turned and fixed his gaze on her.  He left his laser weapon in its holster but Nora kept her gun lifted as she took a step away from the cover of the wall. 

     "Are you with the Institute?" 

     The Courser didn't answer, just stared for a moment.  There was something unnerving about his expression.  His eyes showed the faintest hint of curiosity but there was nothing else there.  Nothing but a strange familiarity, like Nora had seen him somewhere before. 

     "Do you have the terminal code?" 

     "I asked you first," Nora spat, "Are you with the Institute?" 

     "You aren't with the Gunners," the Courser replied, "What do you want?" 

     Nora drew in a sharp breath and tightened her grip on her gun. "I want the thing in your head, asshole." 

     The Courser looked confused for half a second but quickly recovered, his flat, sinister expression returning.  

     "I'm afraid you can't have that." 

     "You fuck-heads took my son," Nora snapped, "So I will take whatever the hell I want." 

     She squeezed the trigger and hit the Courser in the shoulder.  She saw Hancock scramble to her side from the corner of her eye just as the Courser disappeared.  Just like Kellogg had in the belly of Fort Strong. 

     "Where'd the bastard go?" 

     "Stealth Boy," Nora seethed, "Kellogg had one." 

     She turned in a quick corner, gun raised, searching for any sign of the Courser.  Just as she took a step sideways to put her back to the wall, a blue laser streaked across the room and caught her in the middle.  Pain rippled through her like she'd been kicked in the stomach, knocking her to the floor.  The air left her lungs as she landed hard, her shotgun shoved against her spine.  She heard Hancock yell something and then his shotgun fired once; she rolled to her side and gasped for air, somehow still clutching her 10mm. 

     It felt like hours before she could breathe again, struggling to her feet and glancing around frantically for the Courser.  He and Hancock were engaged at close distance.  The Courser took a swing at him, the laser pistol arcing through the air as he attempted to hit Hancock; Nora pushed herself forward, clutching her stomach as Hancock dodged the swing deftly.  In one smooth motion, he knocked the Courser's feet out from under him.  Nora saw her chance and fired her 10mm, emptying the chamber and then dropping it before collapsing to her knees again. 

     "Nora, you okay?" 

     "Get the Courser," she wheezed, trying to push Hancock away as he grabbed her shoulders. "Get him, we need him." 

     "You got him, love," Hancock replied, "You shredded the bastard." 

     Nora took a few deep breaths, wincing as pain lanced through her diaphragm.  Hancock eased her into a sitting position, grabbing for the Stimpaks she kept at her belt.  She felt the prick at her shoulder and, within seconds, the flood of relief as her pain melted into a dull throb.  She glanced down at her front and sighed.  The laser had burned a fist-sized hole through her shirt and left an angry burn on her ribs.  She knew without asking that she'd come deliriously close to looking like the Gunner tied up nearby. 

     "He shot them when they were unarmed," she said once she could breathe normally again, "For a terminal password." 

     "Fuck 'im." 

     Nora tried to smile but winced.  The pain had faded but was still there. 

     "We gotta get the chip and then Curie and --" 

     "Please, help me!  Please!" 

     Nora whipped around, looking for the source of the voice.  Peering through the dirty glass of a side room, the one that had been locked off by the terminal doors, was a young girl.  She looked no older than 18 or 19, dressed in gray rags with a mop of dirty blond hair. 

     "What the hell?" 

     "The terminal password is in that trunk over there," she shouted, voice muffled. "Please, let me out." 

     Hancock stood and began rooting through the trunk she had pointed to, then went to the terminal to type in the password.  After swearing and retyping, he punched in the password correctly, the doors popped open, and the girl rushed out. 

     "Thank you so much,"  she said, "I was so scared he'd get in." 

     "Are you a synth?" Nora blurted, forcing herself to stand up. "What's your name?" 

     "Uh, I...I prefer Jenny.  Yes, the Courser was here for me.  First the Gunners got me.  I think they wanted a ransom." 

     "Well, they've been taken care of," Nora said, "Do you have somewhere you can go?" 

     "No, but I can make it on my own.  I have to." 

     "We’re headed to Goodneighbor.  You're welcome to tag along, or I can help you get to Diamond City..." 

     Jenny shook her head vigorously. "No thanks," she said, "I'm getting out the Commonwealth, going north.  Thanks anyway." 

     "Do you need any supplies, at least?" 

     Jenny shook her head again and grabbed an abandoned laser pistol off one of the dead Gunners.  With a friendly smile, she hurried down the stairs and was gone.  Nora let out a breath and went to join Hancock by the dead Courser. 

     "Any ideas how to get his chip?" 

     Hancock looked up at her with a grimace. "You got a really sharp ice cream scoop on hand?"


	38. Follow the Freedom Trail

     "Follow the Freedom Trail." 

     Fahrenheit nodded to the battered holotape on the coffee table between them and took a long drag off her cigarette.  Nora raised an eyebrow. 

     "You guys have worked with the Railroad?" 

     Fahrenheit shook her head. "We pretend they don't exist," she said, "Per Hancock's orders.  Live free and all that.  So long as no one causes trouble around town, they're welcome to come and go as they please.  No idea what the hell the Freedom Trail is, though." 

     "It's a pre-war tourist thing," Nora supplied, "Historic spots around Boston that played a big role in the American Revolution back in the 1700s." 

     "Don't tell me you were there for that, too." 

     Nora gave her a dirty look and saw the faintest twitch of amusement on Fahrenheit's lips. "I had a job giving tours one summer," she replied, "The State House is one stop.  There are more than a dozen others, so I guess I've got my work cut out for me figuring out where these Railroad people are holed up." 

     Fahrenheit took another long drag from her cigarette and fixed Nora with a piercing stare.  It wasn't malicious but Nora felt herself start to squirm.  She prided herself on being able to stand up to almost any scrutiny, but Fahrenheit was one of the few that seemed able to get under her skin. 

     "Hancock seems to like traveling with you." 

     "We make a good team," Nora replied, giving the redhead a strangled smile.  

     "Just don't break his heart, alright?" 

     Fahrenheit flashed a rare smile at Nora and stubbed out her cigarette before standing to leave.  She exchanged a look with Hancock, who had just made it up the spiral staircase, before glancing back at Nora and then disappearing around the corner. 

     "You two getting chummy?" Hancock asked, throwing himself onto the couch next to Nora. 

     "I still can't tell if she likes me or not." 

     Hancock threw an arm over Nora's shoulders and left a kiss on her temple. "Since when do you care if people like you or not?" 

     "I don't _care_ ," Nora said, "I just like to know where I stand with people.  Is Curie still at the Memory Den?" 

     "Gushing over the Memory Loungers," Hancock replied, "Nice subject change there.  Almost flawless." 

     "Get all your mayoral duties taken care of?" 

     "And then some," Hancock said, "Where we headed to next?" 

     Nora picked her Pip-Boy up off the side table and opened her map, zooming in to the map around Goodneighbor.  She debated for a moment before pointing to a small church icon. 

     "Old North Church," she said, "Closest stop on the Freedom Trail that I'm pretty sure isn't infested with Super Mutants." 

     "So what is it infested with?" 

     "Radroaches, cobwebs, and Ferals," Nora replied, "At least it was a few months ago.  Piper and I cleared it out and she got knocked down the stairs by a Feral.  Broke her wrist.  No sign of any other inhabitants but since I had to take her back to Diamond City, we didn't get a chance to poke around in the basement tunnels." 

     "Sounds like our kind of fun." 

     Nora scoffed. "Yeah, fun.  Totally." 

     She set the Pip-Boy aside and let her shoulders slump, head falling back against the moth-eaten cushions.  She was tired.  Tired of walking, tired of killing things, tired of taking blind stabs in the dark and hoping it would get her one step closer to finding Shaun.  She was tired of the seemingly endless cycle of injury and recovery and this extended game of hide and seek she was playing with the Institute.  She wanted to sleep without dreaming and stop feeling guilty about every decision she made – go looking for Shaun and leave the Minutemen leaderless, go take care of the Minutemen and put off finding her baby.  Her baby who wasn't her baby anymore, who wouldn't even recognize her if she did make it into the Institute, who was probably perfectly happy with adoptive parents at best or brainwashed all to hell at worst -- 

     "I can hear your brain spinning, sunshine." 

     Nora sighed and shifted in her seat. "This damned suit," she said, pulling at the stretchy fabric around her midsection. "It's driving me insane." 

     After the Courser's blue laser had burned a hole through her flannel shirt, she'd been forced to wear the grimy Vault suit, a garment utterly unsuited for summer weather or to have pressed against the large burn the laser had left behind. 

     "Then take it off," Hancock whispered in her ear, one hand sliding suggestively across her chest to the zipper. 

     Nora nudged him away playfully. "Are those Mentats actually aphrodisiacs?" 

     "Just trying to make up for lost time." 

     "You're like a teenager," Nora complained, trying to pull away from his eager kisses to her neck and shoulders. "I'm _old_ , John.  I don't have your stamina." 

     "Then let me do all the work." 

     Nora tutted but didn't pull away as he slowly unzipped her suit and nipped at the skin under her ear.  She was still tired but she'd forgotten all about the Railroad, the Institute, and everything else, at least. 

 

     It was barely sunrise when Nora woke, stirred from sleep by an insistent beeping from her Pip-Boy.  She was curled up on the improvised double bed in Hancock's room, her head pillowed on his arm, one leg thrown across his waist.  Dogmeat was snoring across the room, stretched out on her sleeping bag with his legs in the air like a dead bug.  It was warm, peaceful, and quiet...except for that damned beeping. 

     With a groan, Nora rolled over and grabbed the device off the side table.  It was another message from Sturges. 

     _Castle needs you.  Good and bad news._  

Nora sighed and dropped it onto the side table, then rolled back into Hancock's embrace with the blanket dragged up to her chin.   

     "Another settlement in trouble?" 

     Nora exhaled heavily and ran her hand across the scarred, pitted flesh of Hancock's chest. "No, it's the Castle this time.  'Good and bad news', apparently." 

     "Urgent?" 

     "Probably not," Nora mumbled.  Her eyelids were feeling heavy again. "But if I leave before noon I can make it over there right before dark." 

     "What about the Railroad?" 

     "They'll still be wherever they are in a few days, once I take care of the Castle business." 

     "What are you avoiding?" 

     Nora frowned. "I'm not avoiding anything." 

     "If the Castle needed help immediately, they'd have sent the message out over Radio Freedom," Hancock replied, "You just said yourself it probably wasn't urgent." 

     Nora sat up and flipped back the blanket so she could swing her legs over the edge of the bed. "I made a commitment to the Minutemen and I'm not going to abandon it willy-nilly." 

     "Who said anything about that?" 

     Nora didn't answer.  She knelt down to rummage through her bag and pulled out her old clothes, including the flannel with a burn hole through the front.  Dogmeat was up, watching her intently, ears perked forward with something like excitement at the prospect of heading out on the road again.  She dressed with quick, jerky movements, paying little attention to keeping her things in order as they spilled from her bag. 

     "You gonna talk to me about what's bothering you all of a sudden?" 

     She glanced up and made eye contact with him for a brief moment, then looked away again. "I'm fine.  Tired." 

     Hancock dragged himself off the bed and tried to sit next to her, but she darted away from his touch like a spooked cat. 

     "You don't look fine." 

     "Well, I am." 

     She grabbed a pouch of caps and stuffed them in her pocket, then grabbed her boots, all the while continuing to avoid looking at him.  When she had finished, she made for the door, but Hancock stepped in front of her and blocked the exit. 

     "Hancock, please," she said, "Please, just...not now." 

     "Since when am I Hancock?" 

     "That's your name, isn't it?" 

     Hancock held in a frustrated sigh.  Holy hell, this woman was stubborn. 

     "I'm not trying to pry.  I just want to help if I can.  That's what I'm here for, right?  You promised you weren't just using me for my good looks." 

     Not even a ghost of a smile.  After a second, Nora looked up at him and the only thing he saw in those lovely gray eyes was uncertainty – something he hadn't thought Nora was even capable of. 

     "You wouldn't understand." 

     She looked away and then ducked under his arm to hurry down the staircase.  Dogmeat looked torn for a moment, glancing between Hancock and the direction his mistress had fled. 

     "You know her better, I guess," Hancock said to him, waving vaguely at the spiral staircase as Nora's footsteps faded away. "Go keep her out of trouble." 

      

     An hour later, Hancock found Nora outside near the town gates, dressed in a new shirt, her long hair yanked back into a tight bun.  He had repacked her bag for her and handed it over silently, letting her lead the way out of Goodneighbor and into the ruins.  Without a word to him, she turned north and began walking, in the opposite direction of the Castle. 

     Since Curie had opted to stay behind with Dr. Amari, their walk was unusually quiet.  It was early enough that most Raider gangs in that end of the city were still sleeping off hangovers, leaving Hancock with close to an hour to try to figure out what was bugging Nora so much as they trekked towards the Old North Church.  Something to do with her son, he was almost certain, but what, he couldn't fathom. 

     As predicted, the church was filled with Ferals.  Hancock and Nora fell into an easy, familiar rhythm taking them out, his shotgun blasts echoing around the sharp pops of her 10mm.  Dogmeat made the operation even more efficient, dragging the poor bastards down by their legs to facilitate easier head shots.  They dropped them all fairly quickly and found the entrance to the basement, following a trail of glowing green blood to another Feral, a particularly bloated and grotesque one that didn't finally fall still until they had blasted it to little more than chunks. 

     "Well, I certainly didn't miss that," Nora said, using an old rag from her pocket to wipe green blood off her jeans.  Hancock wanted to say something but couldn't think of what before Nora had tossed aside the rag and begun marching to the end of the tunnel.  Talking was good, talking was an improvement.  Next step was an actual conversation. 

     At the end of the tunnel was a large metal medallion, mounted on the wall and connected to a long wire that disappeared into a crack between the stones.  Nora stood and stared at it, hands on her hips, head cocked a little to the side.   _The Freedom Trail.  Boston._  

     "Any ideas?" 

     "I think it's a puzzle," she said, reaching out to touch the medallion.  It sank under her fingertips and they could hear the click and scrape of old, unused gears beneath. "Railroad, maybe?" 

     She pushed a little harder and turned the center of the medallion around to a large letter R, then let go.  The gears clicked once and she smiled triumphantly. 

     "This shouldn't take long." 

     In minutes, she'd spelled out 'Railroad', then stepped back as the wall shuddered and began to move.  Hancock lifted his shotgun warily, unsure of what would be on the other side and whether or not they'd actually like it.   

     The wall moved aside with a wail of scraping stone and they were suddenly blinded by a spotlight pointing directly at them from across a large, empty cavern of sorts. 

     "Stop right there," a commanding female voice said, "Who are you?  How did you find us?"


	39. Too Many Words

     Nora squinted and put her hand on her 10mm.  As her eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light, she took in the scene before her with trepidation.  Three people faced them from across the room – a tall, muscular woman toting a minigun and a younger man with a basic pipe pistol, both flanking another woman, the one who had told them to stop.  She looked older than Nora – physically speaking, anyway – and stood with one hand on her hip and her eyes narrowed at them.  She wasn't armed but stood with a casual air that suggested she didn't really care.

     "How did you find us?" She repeated, louder this time.

     "It's not exactly hard," Nora answered, "Big red line leading right up to your front door?"

     The two women exchanged glances and Nora sighed impatiently. "Look, if you're the Railroad, I need your help," she said, "I don't have time to get into a pissing contest.  I'm trying to get into the Institute and I need things to start happening yesterday."

     There was a short silence before the woman in the middle spoke up. "What's your name?"

     "I'm Nora Wilson.  You know Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor, I assume?"

     " _You're_ General Wilson?  The new leader of the Minutemen?"

     Nora rolled her eyes.  Why was that so damned difficult for people to believe?

     "Yes, I am.  But I'm here on personal business, not professional.  Can you help me or not?"

     "We don't work with people we don't know."

     "I didn’t know we were having a party out here,” a fourth voice interrupted, “What happened to my invite?”

     A man swaggered out of the shadows with his hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his patched jeans.  Despite being underground, he was wearing sunglasses, completing the look with an outlandish pompadour wig.  He glanced around the group and then settled on Nora.  A satisfied smile crossed his face.

     “So you invited the Courser-Killer.  Nice, Des.”

     “Do I know you?” Nora said, fixing him with a beady stare.  She was pretty sure she’d seen him at least once before in Goodneighbor and several times in Diamond City.

     “Courser-Killer?” the woman in charge repeated, “What are you talking about?”

     “Yeah, the one over at Greenetech.  Single-handedly, along with a building full of Gunners.”

     “She had help,” Nora heard Hancock mutter at her shoulder. 

     “How in the hell do you know about that?” Nora asked.

     “Well, it might be news to you, but you’ve been making waves,” the pompadour-wearer replied, “Rebuilding the Minutemen and taking back the Castle, for one, plus you’re all over the Brotherhood’s radar…”

     “Can we please get back to business?  Who are all you people and can you help me or not?”

     “Call me Deacon,” the man in the pompadour wig said, “If you’ve got that intact Courser chip, come on in.”

     “Deacon, that violates _all_ of our security protocols --”

     “Desdemona, she’s got an _intact courser chip_ ,” Deacon said, “Seriously, show the Courser-murdering machine some courtesy.  There’s no way she’d be working with the Institute.”

     “You don’t know that for certain,” Desdemona responded.

     Nora pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache bloomed behind her forehead.  This was going in circles and the clock kept ticking on.

     “I’m not with the Institute,” she said loudly, “I’m a pre-war Vault Dweller who was cryogenically frozen until about nine months ago.  While I was in cryostasis, the Institute’s mercenary, Kellogg, murdered my husband and kidnapped my infant son.  It’s been ten years since and I would really like to get somewhere in remedying this situation before another decade passes.  _Can you help me or not?_ ”

     Desdemona eyed her with something like mild surprise.  A tense moment passed before she nodded slowly.

     “We can help you decode the chip and whatever data is on it,” she said, “But if you want us to help you, you’ve got to help us.  Tit for tat.”

     “Am I the only one who finds that phrase a little weird?” Deacon piped up.  Desdemona sent him a withering look and Nora willed herself not to scream in frustration.  It was perfectly fair, a mutual back-scratch, but God help her was she tired of this roundabout.  Just once, she wanted someone to offer help without asking for something in return.

     “Tit for tat,” she agreed once she’d regained control, “What do I have to do?”

 

     The clack of a keyboard woke Nora with a start.  She’d fallen asleep on an old bench in the Railroad HQ, head resting on the wall and back bent uncomfortably.  She rubbed grit from her eyes and sat a little straighter as Tinker Tom continued to pound on his keyboard and mutter to himself. 

     “Still pretty early.”

     Hancock was sitting on the ground nearby, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, worn leather tricorn shielding his face.  He was sharpening the knife he kept at his side, the steel sliding smoothly against the whetstone with each careful stroke.  Dogmeat had parked himself nearby and gnawed happily on a bone of rather dubious origin.

     “Didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Nora muttered, rubbing a tight muscle in her neck.  It seemed like every inch of her was tense and aching.

     “Been almost three days since you slept last,” Hancock replied.  His tone was flat, expressionless, but the look he shot her from under his hat said volumes.

     “Has it?”

     “Left here on Wednesday afternoon, met up with Deacon and the tourist that night.  Cleared Switchboard in a record couple hours, then you insisted on coming back immediately.”

     Nora returned his look with one of her own. “I remember,” she replied, “The question was rhetorical.”

     “I ain’t had a Mentat in a couple hours, so don’t go flashing your intellect at me with those big words, doll.”

     Nora briefly debated throwing a rock at him but settled for a scowl. “John.”

     “Nora.”

     “Can we not?” Nora asked with a sigh, “Pretty please?”

     He didn’t answer.  Nora shook her head and shifted in her seat, briefly catching Tinker Tom’s eye.  He looked back at his computer quickly as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping. 

     “I should have this little baby opening up real soon,” he said, “The encryption code is pretty complex but I think I’m just about through.”

     “Thank you,” Nora replied.  The desk he’d set up at was covered in various bits of electrical junk and more Mentats boxes than even Hancock carried, the courser chip rigged into the terminal with salvaged wire and several strips of duct tape.  Nora had her doubts about the jittery engineer, but she’d been assured he was more reliable than he seemed and was probably the only one in the Commonwealth capable of decoding the chip.  She’d gone on even less information and larger doubts before – getting Nick out of the Vault, taking directions through the Glowing Sea from religious zealots – so she had handed over the tiny black chip without asking too many questions.

     Dogmeat abandoned his bone and came to sit by Nora, placing his chin on her knee and looking up with sad brown eyes.  She gave him a reassuring scratch behind the ears, trying to distract herself in the eerie silence of HQ.  Of all places to establish a base of operations, the Railroad chose a damned _tomb,_ complete with a few six hundred-year-old skeletons.  It was well-hidden from anyone who didn’t happen to be a prewar Vaultie and former Freedom Trail tour guide, but Nora couldn’t shake the weird feeling she got down there.  Too little light, only two exits, mounds of dust, echoed voices…she’d be glad to be out and back aboveground.

     The click of a lighter interrupted her thoughts.  Hancock lit a cigarette and stuffed the lighter back into his pocket.  He wouldn’t look at her but she’d felt him stealing glances for a while.  She knew she was doing him a disservice by not talking to him, but every time she stopped and tried to broach the subject, nothing came.  She couldn’t put into words all the strange fears that had sprung up in her over the last few days, especially not to him.

     He looked up as a plume of smoke curled around the edge of his hat and caught her looking.  She gave him a smile but he looked away.  Nora sighed internally and rubbed at the crick in her neck, then stood and made her way over to him.

     “John.”

     “What d’ya need?”

     “I’ve been thinking,” Nora said, sliding down to sit next to him. “A lot.”

     “What about?”

     “It’s difficult to say,” she answered, “And I’m sorry for being distant and grouchy.  I want to tell you everything but I don’t know how.”

     “I’m not askin’ for a long speech, Sunshine.  Just honesty.”

     Nora nodded and took a deep breath. “Come with me to Diamond City?”

     “Did you forget about their Ghoul policy?”

     “Fuck ‘em,” Nora answered, “I know a back entrance and I have the key to Home Plate.  We can sneak in like a pair of teenagers and have some time alone.  I’ll even turn off the Pip-Boy or a few hours.”

     Hancock gave her a small smile. “Where’d you learn about that back entrance?”

     “Piper,” Nora replied, “Your brother kicked us out when I accidentally got Doc Crocker killed.  Said we were a menace to society.”

     “But he let you buy Home Plate?”

     “I came back a little while later with Strong instead of Piper, so there wasn’t a lot of convincing involved.”

     “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

     Nora leaned her head on his shoulder and smiled to herself.  Hancock shifted and grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers, and kissed the top of her head.  They sat like that in companionable silence as Tinker Tom continued typing and muttering, as Railroad agents began moving about, as Dogmeat went back to his bone.  Nora drifted in and out of sleep and tried not to think too much until Tinker Tom shouted in triumph and waved her over to gush at the data he had unlocked.

     She was one step closer to Shaun.

 


	40. Home Plate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

     It was dark by the time they got to Diamond City.  Nora had ordered Dogmeat “home” when they approached the front gates, then lead Hancock around the crumbling buildings and down a narrow alley.  She vaulted herself onto the rusty dumpster and over the wall, landing with a muffled thump on the other side.  Hancock followed, knees creaking loudly to remind him that his youthful days of sneaking around were long over.

     He’d barely stood and brushed himself off before Nora pushed him against the wall, lips pressed against his, hands underneath the flaps of his coat.  She’d dropped her bag and shotgun nearby and pushed herself against him with a familiar urgency.

     “Easy, love,” he whispered, grabbing her hands as she made for his belt. “What’s the rush?”

     “John…”

     “No bargaining,” he replied firmly, lips at her ear. “I like to take my time.  Can’t do that out here.”

     He felt her shudder lightly against him and smiled.

     “You are such a fucking tease,” she said, stepping back and grabbing her discarded possessions.

     “You don’t know the half of it,” he promised, following her lead through the darkened, mostly deserted streets to Home Plate.  It didn’t take long to get there and Nora ushered him in quickly, pushing the door shut with her foot and cornering him again. 

     Hancock let her this time, arms circled around her waist as she kissed him.  She opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, tongue swiping along what little bottom lip he had left.  He put a hand behind her head and pulled her closer, his other hand sliding down to feel the delectable curve of her backside, cupped perfectly by the leather leg guards she wore everywhere now.  Nora let out a little moan at his touch and pressed her hips into his.

     “John, please,” she panted into his lips, “Please.”

     “Please what, Sunshine?”

     She let out a frustrated huff of air and kissed him again with enough force that his hat fell back and then slipped to the floor.

     “Take me to bed,” she demanded in between kisses.  Hancock obliged, walking her backwards to the bare mattress in the corner.  He tugged at the laces on her leg guards and let them fall to the floor as she sat down hard and began fiddling with her chest piece.  As soon as she was free of it, he grabbed at the hem of her shirt and lifted it, tossing the garment aside to join the trail of clothing marking their progress from the door.

     “Why do you fuck with this thing?” he growled, fiddling with the clasp of her bra.  She grinned wickedly at him and undid it herself, naked breasts spilling free.  He smiled to himself and leaned over to the little switch beside the bed, flipping it on and flooding the room with light.

     “That’s too bright.”  


     Hancock pulled Nora to him and grabbed one breast, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing gently across her nipple.

     “I want to see you, Nora.”

     She shivered again, goosebumps erupting on her shoulders and back.  She let out a heady moan, head thrown back to expose her neck as Hancock kissed and bit at the delicate flesh.  She’d never been a very loud lover so he made sure to relish every little gasp and pant as it came.

     “This – this was supposed to be for you,” she protested weakly as he yanked her jeans down and pulled her into his lap. “I’m having all the fun, here.”

     “Don’t worry, love, I’m good,” Hancock replied and thrust his hips against her, pressing the evidence of his arousal to her inner thigh.  She smiled and kissed him, hands on either side of his face, a deep, passionate kiss like the first one they’d shared near the bridge in Sanctuary.  It made his head spin and he briefly lost his concentration.

     Nora took advantage of his lapse and slipped one hand past his waistband, her slim fingers closing around him firmly.  He groaned and struggled not to lose it then and there.

     “I always get my way, John.”

     Hancock let out another groan as she squeezed gently, then pushed her back onto the bed and slipped out of his last bit of clothing before entering her in one quick thrust.  She moaned and arched her back, gripping his shoulders to pull him close. 

     “You’re one stubborn woman, Nora Wilson,” he panted as he thrust into her, “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

     “Because I’m amazing,” she replied breathlessly, hooking her leg around his waist.  He struggled for air as they moved together, his hand going to her thigh pressed against his hip, holding it secure for leverage.  He could feel the puckered, dimpled scars that stretched up and down it and, for probably the thousandth time, whispered a silent prayer of thanks that she had survived that particular incident.

     “John.”  She whispered his name in between thrusts and pants, her voice almost reverent in quality.  Hancock liked her this way, not just because it felt fucking amazing and she was fucking amazing, but because he got to see this side of her no one else got.  To the rest of the world, she was loud, commanding, foul-mouthed most of the time and well-acquainted with her various weapons.  He liked her that way; he liked that she took charge, told it like it was, and never tolerated bullshit.  But he also loved this hidden part of her, the gentle, quiet Nora whispering “I love you” and digging her nails into his shoulders like she’d fall apart if she let go.  

     She came in a slow build-up, tipping over the edge in one spasm that had her gasping and clutching him as her legs tightened around his waist.  He pushed himself quicker, harder, and joined her soon after, face pressed into her sweat-soaked chest.  He could feel her grip on him loosen as they both struggled in silence to bring their breathing back to normal.

     “I love you John,” she whispered after a few minutes.  She kissed him and laid back against the mattress, chest rising and falling with each gentle breath.  Hancock left a quick kiss on her shoulder and pushed himself up off the mattress.

     “I love you, too, Nora.”

     “Where are you going?”

     “Water,” he croaked, stepping back into his pants. “You drained me dry, Sunshine.”

     She rolled to her side and gave him a tired smile. “There should be plenty in the cabinet.”

     She waved vaguely towards the other side of the house and Hancock nodded.  The light was dimmer on that side, but he found the cabinet easily.  Dogmeat had come in through a dog-sized hole cut into the door that opened to the market and parked himself in a tattered red armchair.  The floor was littered with bones and several rubber aliens sporting bite marks; in the middle of the canine mess was an empty food dish.  Dogmeat stared at him pointedly.

     “I hope you know how lucky you are, mutt,” Hancock said, peeling back the lid of a can of Cram before dumping it in the bowl. “Most dogs have to find their own dinner or starve.”

     Dogmeat wagged his tail happily as he scarfed down the Cram.  Hancock gave him a quick scratch behind the ears and made his way back to Nora.  She had fallen asleep in the short time he’d been gone, her head pillowed on her balled-up shirt.  Hancock pulled it away gently and slipped a pillow into its place, then searched around the house for a blanket.

     Home Plate was dusty and a little disorganized; it didn’t look much like Nora had spent a whole lot of time there and just used it as a cache for extra gear.  There were ammo boxes and a rack of pipe pistols, cabinets of purified water and a few foodstuffs, some folded clothes stuffed into a battered dresser, and a pile of prewar books and magazines that seemed mostly intact.  Hancock found a blanket, a drab green one that only smelled a little musty, at the bottom of the dresser.  He shook it out draped it over Nora, then sat at the end of the bed and lit a cigarette.

     She shifted a little in her sleep, feet poking out from under the blanket.  Hancock looked down and frowned.  She hadn’t complained at all, but it looked like the last few days of almost non-stop walking and fighting had taken its toll.  Her bad ankle, broken sometime during her dancing days, was visibly swollen.  Her toes were rubbed raw and she’d slapped a bit of duct tape over one heel, covering a decently-sized, weeping blister.  A second small blister had begun to form on her arch and a third on the bottom of her heel.

     Hancock took a long drag of his cigarette and went to grab a bit of clean cloth, wetting it in the little sink in the corner, and put her feet in his lap.  She flinched at the cold, wet touch but quickly relaxed again as he wiped away the grime and dried blood.

     “I used to bleed into my shoes,” she said quietly, shifting without opening her eyes. “When I danced.  A single performance usually ruined my tights.”

     “Why the hell would you keep doing it if it was that hard on your feet?”

     She gave a small chuckle and smiled to herself. “Because when I was up on stage I could disappear from the world for a few minutes.  I didn’t think about anything but the movement.  And afterwards, it didn’t matter that I was sore and exhausted because I had been happy in the moment and I had made other people happy watching me.”

     Hancock was silent.  He finished his ministrations and took the cloth back to the sink, rinsing it and leaving it to dry on the edge.  He’d started to pick up quite a few of Nora’s neat freak habits in the time they’d spent together.

     When he came back to the bed, she was sitting up, knees to her chest, watching him intently.  Her hair had come loose from its bun and tumbled over her shoulders in red waves.  It was longer than it had been when they’d first met all those months ago in Goodneighbor.

     “John, did you ever think…before you became a Ghoul, before your brother became mayor and all that…did you ever want a wife and kids?”


	41. Baggage

     Hancock paused for a moment and met Nora’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

     “What did you want from life?”

     Hancock shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, “Wasn’t really something I thought about a whole lot.”

     Nora nodded knowingly and looked down, fiddling with the hem of the blanket.  Hancock watched her and waited, thoroughly confused by this line of questioning. 

     “Can you handle me and my…baggage?”

     “Baggage?”

     “My son,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I know you like the Nora that’s loud and crazy and violent and all that, but most of the time I don’t want to be any of those things.  I want my son back and I want the chance to live in peace with him and someone I love.”

     Hancock stared at her as it slowly dawned on him.  _That_ was what this had all been about?

     “Are you asking me if I’m ready to be a family man?  A dad?”

     “I guess,” she said, still not looking at him. “I know it’s not really what you signed up for and I get it if you…”

     “If I what?” Hancock asked, his voice harsher than intended. “If I want to walk out on you?”

     Nora didn’t respond.  Hancock scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

     “Look, Sunshine, I’m not going to lie,” he said, “I have never pictured myself as a father.  I don’t know if domestic bliss is something I’d like.”

     “I understand,” Nora said, “I just hoped…”

     “Let me finish,” Hancock interrupted, “I knew who and what you were long before we ever left Goodneighbor together.  I know you’re a mother before anything else and that everything you’ve done since leaving the Vault has been to that end.  I get it.  I’d be fucking stupid to think I could change that and a brahmin’s ass to want to.  I love you because you’re you and that includes the fact that you still love your dead husband and you have a child.  If you can love an emotionally-stunted bastard who looks like a shriveled mutfruit, I can love a woman with ‘baggage’.”

     She laughed at that, a bright, genuine laugh like he hadn’t heard from her in weeks.  She climbed into his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist, arms draped over his shoulders as she kissed him.

     “You don’t look like a shriveled mutfruit,” she said, “You’re not purple.”

     “Keen observation there, love.  About as insightful as ‘you killed him’.”

     “Fuck you,” she replied without heat, placing her head on his shoulder like a small child.

     “Promise?”

     She mumbled into his shoulder.  He didn’t catch the words but she sounded content and sleepy, so he shifted to lay her back onto the mattress, settling himself next to her.  They lied there in silence for a few minutes as Hancock ran a hand over the curve of her stomach, tracing the long scar that dissected her muscles as evenly as a seam.  He started to ask her about it, realizing that she’d never fully explained its origin, but her breathing had turned deep and even in sleep.

 

     She woke up rolled into her blanket, knees pulled up to her stomach, warm and content.  Hancock had left the bed sometime earlier, leaving her to burrow deep into the mass of fabric like a molerat in its nest.  She could hear voices on the other side of the house and the occasional squeak of Dogmeat’s mutilated rubber aliens.

     “…trying to knock off muties without any armor?”

     “Yeah, fuckin’ things nearly took her leg off.”

     Nora groaned into her pillow.  She was never going to live that one down.

     “It was bound to happen eventually; she’s got no regard for her own safety.”

     Nora whipped the blanket off and grabbed her clothes, abandoned on the floor nearby, grumbling to herself as Hancock and Nick continued chatting.  Dressed, she followed the voices into her makeshift living room and took in the scene before her.

     Dogmeat noticed her first and wagged his tail enthusiastically, chew toy clutched between his front paws.  He was sprawled at Hancock’s feet, as content as ever.  Hancock and Nick were parked across from each other at the old table, sharing an ashtray that overflowed with enough butts to guarantee they’d both develop cancer if either were fully human.

     “So this is the sort you’re taking up with now?” Nick asked, gesturing at Hancock.

     “Militia men, blacklisted reporters, mutants, robots, ghouls,” Nora waved a hand and fell into the spare seat, “It’s a big what-the-fuck-fest wherever I go.  How’s it been on this end of town?”

     Nick shrugged. “Same crap, different day,” he replied, “I actually had a favor to ask you.”

     “I thought I was done being a private detective after that Crocker fiasco.”

     “Well, this one involves someone who really does need to die,” Nick said, “Eddie Winter.”

     Nora eyed him as she popped the two Mentats Hancock handed her. “After two-hundred-odd years, you still can’t drop that one?”

     “I have a lot of time on my hands and a head full of memories that aren’t mine.  Human Nick seems to have…uh…obsessed about him.”

     Nora snorted and shook her head. “Yeah, you could say he obsessed,” she said, “What do you hope to accomplish after all this time?”

     “Well, rumor is, he knew the end was coming, so he went underground in a sealed shelter,” Nick replied, “Wanted to cheat death, live forever, and re-emerge later into this…brave new world.”

     “That arrogant bastard actually thought he could do that?” Nora asked, eyebrows lifted. “What did he do, build himself a private cryo-pod?”

     “Nah, he didn’t want to be a frozen banana.”

     “Hey, watch who you’re calling ‘frozen banana’ there, pal.”

     Hancock laughed and covered it with a gravelly cough as Nora shot him a look.  Nick ignored them both and continued.

     “What everyone thought and what all my digging says is that he turned himself into a Ghoul with some weird radiation experiment,” he said, “I’m convinced he’s still there, just waiting for the right opportunity to come out and start his evil reign all over again.”

     Nora nodded and tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “So where is this shelter of his?”

     “I’m not sure yet,” he said, “But you remember those old holotapes of his?”

     “Of course,” Nora answered, “Incriminated a bunch of different associates and taunted everyone in at the Boston PD, the arrogant fuck.”

     “Well, that’s lucky for us because those tapes are supposed to contain a complex, hidden numerical code that will give us the location of his bunker and the key to open the door,” Nick continued, “I’ve found all but three of them and as soon as I get all ten, I’ll have everything needed to track him down.”

     “And you want me to go with you.”

     “I know you’ve got your plate pretty full,” Nick said, “But when you’ve found your son and all that…I’d be grateful if you helped me finish this last thing.”

     “Of course,” Nora replied with a smile, “If Winter’s still out there, he needs to be put down, and no one deserves to do that more than you.”


	42. How Problems Always Multiply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teleporters and Raiders and Irish pit-fighters, oh my!

****“So do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

     “Gimme the bad first,” Nora replied, “Then we can go up from there.”

     “Bad news, okay,” Ronnie Shaw repeated, “First, we managed to dig out the old tunnels and reopen the armory.”

     “What’s the bad part?”

     “Well, it’s not nearly as well-stocked as we’d hoped,” Ronnie continued, “We have the schematics to fix the artillery but we’ve got almost no raw materials or spare parts.”

     Nora nodded and shifted her pack. “I can deal with that,” she said, “Is that it?”

     “No,” Ronnie answered, “The other bad news is that we’ve caught some Brotherhood scouts skulking around.  Ran off when we saw them, but I think they’ve been scoping out our defenses.”

     Nora stopped and stared at the giant airship in the sky, docked at the airport ruins and floating over the water dark as a radstorm cloud. 

     “You’re sure they were Brotherhood and not Gunners or Raiders?”

     “Laser pistols and those heavy uniforms,” Ronnie said, “Should we tighten up the defenses?”

     “Not yet,” Nora replied after a moment of thinking, “I don’t want them to think they’ve got us spooked or anything.  Repairs and resupply is top priority, but for now we’ll continue on business as usual.  Is Amelia back yet?”

     “Should be before sundown.”

     “Good.  First thing in the morning, I’ll send her out for some counter-surveillance.”

     “Sounds good, General.”

     “So what was the good news?”

     “We’re up to twenty-five recruits now and most of them can shoot straight.”

     Nora smiled. “That is good news.”

 

     “Any of this actually worth something?”

     Nora shrugged and continued pulling apart the old telephone in front of her.

     “As-is, probably not,” she said, dropping a screw into the little wooden box at her elbow. “But most everything has salvageable parts and until someone reopens all the factories, salvage it is.”

     Hancock nodded, absently sorting ammo as she continued stripping down all the junk she had picked up on the walk from Diamond City.  Telephones, desk fans, pipe pistols that didn’t work, old fuses, even ceramic plates – she claimed everything had a purpose and shrugged off his warnings that she’d cripple herself carrying it all around.

     “So you and Sturges are really going to build a teleportation machine out of tin cans and old forks?”

     “That’s the plan.”

     Hancock watched her silently.  She had opened up the telephone and begun yanking out the copper wire.  She hummed off-key while she worked, occasionally asking for a different tool or muttering a frustrated oath at particularly stubborn retrievals.  It was immensely boring work, but he liked watching her and couldn’t complain about the working turrets and water purifiers at Minutemen settlements.

     “You sure this thing will work right?”

     She glanced up at him, brushing aside a loose lock of red hair, and smiled. “I trust Sturges.”

     “I know.  I do, too, but…this is a far cry from what he usually works on.”

     Nora set down the toaster she’d begun prying apart and leaned forward to kiss him, heedless of the piles of junk spread between them on the rug.  It was a simple kiss, straightforward and almost platonic, but she let it linger.

     “I’m coming back,” she said finally, pulling back and placing her hand on his cheek. “I promise.”

     Hancock bit back his reply and nodded.  Nora smiled and sat back, returning to her junk dismantling as she hummed along to the strains of fiddle music wafting in from the courtyard.  He grabbed her Pip-Boy as she worked, scrolling over to her incredibly long to-do list.  In addition to all the work that needed to be done for the Minutemen and everything required to get the teleporter in working order, she had added a number of requests from the Railroad.

     “So what were you planning on tackling first?”

     Nora glanced up from the toaster and over to the Pip-Boy. “Raiders,” she said, “There’s supposed to be a gang nearby causing trouble.”

     “At the Combat Zone?”

     “That’s the one.”

     “Lotta gangs been in and out of that place,” Hancock said, “Pit-fighting, if I recall.”

     “Well, they seem to be getting bored with knocking each other senseless,” Nora replied, “Ronnie said they kidnapped someone for ransom a few weeks ago and took her there.”

     “So we get to go in guns blazing?”

     “Exactly,” Nora answered with a wicked grin, “Like we always do.”

    

     “You want me to do what?”

     Nora stared at Tommy Lonegan with one eyebrow raised, shotgun bent over her arm.  There had been a lot more Raiders holed up inside the Combat Zone, an old theater that had been mostly gutted and stank of blood and piss, than she expected, and the constant blast of shotgun shells in the enclosed space had made her head ache.  Dogmeat lied nearby, panting heavily, and Hancock leaned against the fight cage door, eyes glassy as he slowly came down from a Psycho high.  Both had gotten in the way of a pool cue wrapped with barbed wire but didn’t seem the worse for wear beyond a few bruises and cuts.  She’d tossed Hancock a pair of Stimpaks but he’d only used the one intended for Dogmeat and then waved off her concerns without a word.

     Tommy Lonegan eyed Nora up and down and then gestured to his pit-fighter. “Her contract.  It’s yours.  Take her.”

     The brawler, a scrawny young woman named Cait, sporting a tangle of hair even redder than Nora’s, scowled at him and gripped her bat with white knuckles.

     “And just what the hell are you going to do without me here?”

     “Clean the place up, maybe find a less bloodthirsty clientele,” Tommy Lonegan spat back at her, rolling his eyes. “Meanwhile maybe _la femme nikita_ here can straighten you out some.”

     “I got enough to worry about right now, thanks,” Nora replied, “Sort out your own problems.”

     She turned and left Cait and Lonegan standing there, Lonegan gaping and Cait with a bemused smirk.  Hancock stopped her at the edge of the cage with a hand on her elbow.

     “Since when do we leave people hanging?”

     Nora looked away. “I can’t help people who create their own problems.  Doesn’t look like he’s doing too terribly, besides.”

     “Lonegan may not be,” Hancock replied, “But that girl is.”

     He nodded in Cait’s direction.  The young woman was slumped against the opposite edge of the cage, arms on her knees and head tilted back against the chain link.  She had the look of a Commonwealth native – underfed and wan – with an added helping of old bruises scattered up and down her arms and across her exposed collarbone.  A fresh one had bloomed along the edge of her jaw and she was breathing heavily as if in pain.  The needle marks inside her elbows weren’t hard to spot.

     Nora sighed and took the Stimpak Hancock held out to her, then stomped over to Cait.

     “We leave in five,” she said, thrusting the syringe at her. “Come on if you want.”

     Cait eyed her suspiciously for a minute, then took the Stimpak. “Thanks.”

     Nora didn’t answer, just turned and left the cage with Dogmeat on her heels.  Her pack had been abandoned not far from the entrance to the old theater; she grabbed it and began looting through the debris the Raiders had left behind while Cait chatted up Hancock.

     “You know, if I ever decide to go ghoul, Hancock, you’re the first one I’m lookin’ up.”

     “I’ll be countin’ down the days.”

     Nora peered over the edge of a moldy seat and caught Hancock’s eye.  He shrugged and she glared at him, snapping her shotgun closed.  The noise made her head throb.

     Dogmeat whined at her, brown eyes anxious.  It was going to be a long walk back to Goodneighbor.


	43. Girls' Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we not going to bring Monsieur Hancock?” Curie asked, glancing back at the State House.
> 
> “I told him it would be a quick job,” Nora lied, “Back by sunrise.”
> 
> “Ah, marvelous, this will be a…what do you call it, madame? Girls’ night out?”
> 
> Cait snorted and Nora shook her head.
> 
> “Yeah,” she replied, “A girl’s night out. Not counting Dogmeat.”

     “Oh, madame!  You have made it back safely!”

     Nora froze in bewilderment as the young woman, dressed in a white lab coat like Dr. Amari’s, threw her arms around her neck and hugged her as if they were old friends.

     “…Curie?”

     The woman stepped back and nodded vigorously. “I needed the spark of human inspiration,” she said, as if that explained anything. “So I decided to become human.”

     “Uh…how?”

     “She’s not technically human,” Dr. Amari supplied, typing absently on her computer terminal. “I was able to transfer the memories and cognitive functions of her Miss Nanny processor into a synth brain using the Memory Loungers.”

     Nora nodded, remembering the magic Dr. Amari had worked with daisy-chaining her own brain to Nick’s and Kellogg’s simultaneously.  It all made her head spin.

     “Where did you find a synth willing to do…this?” Nora asked, waving vaguely at Curie’s body.

     “G5 wasn’t exactly _willing_ ,” a third voice interrupted.  Nora jumped and turned to see Glory sitting nearby, smoking and staring at Curie with what looked like a mixture of sadness and apprehension.

     “G5?”

     “G5-19,” Glory clarified, “The synth whose body Curie is now…inhabiting.  She was like family to me, helped me escape the Institute.”

     “The last time she escaped, she opted for a memory wipe,” Dr. Amari said, “Unfortunately, sometimes things go wrong and most cognitive functions are lost, leaving the subject in a permanent vegetative state.  This happened to G5.”

     Nora wasn’t sure what to say.  The idea made her shiver with horror; it was impossible to imagine it happening to someone she cared about.

     “She was tough, but I guess…not tough enough for that,” Glory said after a moment of awkward silence, “Do something good with her vessel, alright, Curie?”

     Curie nodded solemnly. “I will endeavor to make advancements to science that will benefit humanity,” she chirped, and Glory gave her a hint of a smile.

     “Good to know,” she said, “Professor, I’ve got a job that you’d be good for, if you’ve got the time.”

     Nora grimaced at the nickname – or, rather, _codename_ – and took the scrap of paper Glory handed her.  Deacon had bestowed it upon her shortly after clearing Switchboard, insisting it was the only way the Railroad worked and that it fit, considering the pair of books she had been carrying at the time. 

     “You guys can just call me Nora.  It’s not like I’ve waltzed through the Commonwealth on the down-low this last year.”

     “Everyone knows Nora Wilson the name,” Glory pointed out, “Not the face.  See you back at HQ sometime.”

     With that, she left, disappearing through the double doors and out into the rain-soaked streets of Goodneighbor.  Nora sighed and glanced down at the paper. 

 

_Package at Bunker Hill.  Hostiles prevent delivery._

     Nora crumpled the paper and tossed it into a nearby ashtray, where Dr. Amari used a rusted flip lighter to reduce it to ash.

     “Hey, Curie, want to go observe some battlefield traumas?”

 

     They were at the gates of Goodneighbor when Cait jumped up from a warped wooden bench to join them.  Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glassy, darting around too fast and not focusing properly.  High on Psycho, Nora guessed.  Dogmeat eyed her suspiciously and edged closer to his mistress.

     “Off to pick a fight?”

     “I guess you could call it that,” Nora said, “Got some business across the river.”

     “Mind if I tag along?”

     Nora tried not to snap at the junkie. “Sure, why not.”

     “Are we not going to bring Monsieur Hancock?” Curie asked, glancing back at the State House.

     “I told him it would be a quick job,” Nora lied, “Back by sunrise.”

     “Ah, marvelous, this will be a…what do you call it, madame?  Girls’ night out?”

     Cait snorted and Nora shook her head.

     “Yeah,” she replied, “A girl’s night out.  Not counting Dogmeat.”

     “Oh, he is always silent, not like the human men,” Curie said dismissively, “And he always listens to your orders, Madame.”

     Nora pushed open the gates and lead the way out, shotgun hanging from its holster on her back.  Curie followed immediately behind, Dogmeat at Nora’s side and Cait bringing up the rear.

     “Curie, can I make a strong request?”

     “Of course, Madame.”

     “Please stop calling me madame.”

 

     Waiting for the runner escort inside the old church had been the most boring, anxious three hours of Nora’s recent life.  Dogmeat fell asleep at her feet and Curie sat quietly on one pew, but Cait was pacing through the dust and debris, scratching her arms to bleeding and making increasingly loud comments about the wait.  She was grating on Nora’s last nerve, tempting her to tie the pit-fighter up and leave her in the belfry, but she had seen the damage Cait had done to the Raider in the cage and wasn’t certain she could take her hand-to-hand.

     At long last, the runner appeared, accompanied by a bearded, timid man dressed in a faded, patched jacket.  The runner, who introduced himself as High Rise, was armed with an Institute rifle and a knife at his hip, but the synth was bare-handed.

     “We’ve got to get H2-22 here to Ticonderoga Safehouse,” High Rise explained, “Usually I can do package deliveries on my own but the route is crawling with Raiders tonight.”

     “Always is,” Nora replied, “Ready when you are.”

     “Can we trust your friends?”

     Nora glanced back at Curie and Cait, then nodded. “The one in the lab coat is a synth herself,” she said, not adding _and the other one is an addict that probably isn’t going to remember all this come morning._   She knew she hadn’t remembered much after sleeping off a Med-X high.

     “Alright,” High Rise said, “Let’s get moving.”

     Nora nodded and followed High Rise out of the abandoned church.  The two of them took the lead and Cait and Curie followed with H2 sandwiched safely between the two groups.  Dogmeat wandered along at the edges of the group, slipping in and out of the lengthening shadows as the sun began to set behind them.

     “We’re small and traveling light, so we should have the advantage,” High Rise whispered to Nora as they crept around the edge of a boarded-over townhouse. “Should make it there quick as long as they don’t outnumber us.”

     Nora nodded in agreement, motioning to Cait and Curie to follow as High Rise led the way down a deserted street at a quick job.  They made it almost a mile before encountering the Raiders, who had established a nest inside a cluster of blown-out buildings near an old metro station.  As usual, Dogmeat took off after the first Raider he saw.  Nora followed with her shotgun, dodging behind an old newspaper kiosk in between shots for cover.  High Rise hung back and gave cover with his rifle.

     “Madame!  I do not have a weapon!”

     _Fuck_.

     Nora fired her shotgun twice and then thrust it at Curie, who had followed her behind the kiosk, shaking in shock and fear.

     “I am so sorry, Madame,” she babbled, “I did not think, with this new body…”

     “It’s alright,” Nora interrupted, “You know how to load this?”

     “I think so.”

     “Just slide the shells in there,” Nora replied, “It only takes two at a time, so make them count.  Wait until they’re no more than fifty feet away before you shoot.  It kicks.”

     Curie nodded and Nora unclipped her 10mm, squinting over the sights and putting a bullet in the chest of a Raider just across the street.  He went limp and tumbled over the balcony railing, landing on the dark pavement with sickening _splat_.  Nora jumped out from behind the kiosk and ran to the body, grabbing the rifle from underneath and then sliding back into cover between two buildings.

     It was a basic hunting rifle, the barrel scuffed and scratched, but it had a full clip of .308 ammunition.  Nora glanced through the sights and then, satisfied that they worked decently, bent to one knee and took aim at the last Raider down the street.  He was carrying a minigun, pounding out round after round that tore into the concrete.  High Rise and H2 were safely behind the metro station’s solid concrete wall, but were pinned down.  Wishing momentarily that she had MacCready on hand – he was infinitely better at this long-range stuff – Nora took aim and fired.

     Just as she squeezed the trigger, Cait darted into view, bat held over her head.  She brought it crashing down on the Raider’s skull and the spray of bullets stopped abruptly.  Nora swore as her bullet embedded itself into the dumpster behind Cait and the Raider.

     “Oi!  Ya’ coulda killed me!”

     “Don’t go running into the thick of things without letting us know!” Nora yelled back, slinging the rifle over her shoulder and running over to Cait. “This is a team effort; you have to fucking communicate!  Especially when there’s a Raider with a minigun!”

     Cait opened her mouth to reply when High Rise interrupted them.

     “You guys don’t play around,” he said, joining them with H2 and Curie in tow.  Nora and Cait ignored him.

     “I can handle meself in a fight,” she snapped at Nora, “No need to get bossy.  Fucker’s dead, innit e’?

     Nora felt Dogmeat come up beside her and bent to examine him, distracting herself from knocking Cait upside the head.  She didn’t want to actually break the woman’s nose, but the idea was tempting.  Even Dogmeat had the sense not to run into the line of fire; antics like Cait’s were going to get them all killed eventually.

     “Let’s get going,” Curie interrupted diplomatically, “The noise is sure to have attracted the attention of others.”

     She was exactly right; before they got much farther, they encountered another gaggle of Raiders.  This group was smaller and not as well-fortified, but Nora was still seething and missed more than her fair share of targets before the gang was fully dispatched.  The last obstacle was a group of Super Mutants, but High Rise managed to lead them through a darkened alley without being noticed.  It took longer than Nora had anticipated, but within a few hours, the group made it to Ticonderoga, a safehouse hidden inside an old skyscraper on the riverfront.

     “Thanks for the help, Professor,” High Rise told her as they stood in the relative cover of the lobby. “You heavies are always nice to have around.”

     “No problem,” Nora replied, “I hope H2 can get out safely.”

     “Shouldn’t have any problems,” High Rise answered, “The route’s pretty clear from here.  Remember, my house is your house.  Drop in anytime you need supplies or a bite to eat or just a power nap.”

     Nora smiled warmly at him, holding out her hand. “I’ll hold you to it.”

     High Rise shook and beckoned to H2-22.  The synth, who hadn’t said a word on the whole trip, turned to Nora and also held out his hand.

     “Thank you,” he said.  His voice was low and soft and Nora was suddenly struck with that same feeling as when she’d confronted the Courser.  She had no idea why, but he looked familiar.  The feeling made her stomach twist anxiously.

     Without another word, he left, following High Rise into the elevator.  The doors clicked shut and Nora let out a breath.

     “Are you alright, Madame?”

     Nora smiled weakly at Curie and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, “Let’s get going.”

     “Some girls’ night out,” Cait remarked as they plodded across the bridge towards Goodneighbor.  Nora, for once, had to agree with her.


	44. Junkie vs. General

     The group trudged back into Goodneighbor with less than an hour of darkness left.  Cait and Nora were both yawning and Curie had complained that her “cognitive processes were slowing”, prompting an explanation that her synth body probably needed at least a little sleep.  Nora dug around in her bag and handed both women enough caps to pay for a night at Rexford, then slipped into the Old State House with Dogmeat on her heels.

     One of the neighborhood watch had fallen asleep in his chair at the foot of the spiral stairs; Nora nudged him awake as she passed and shot him a look.

     “Don’t let Fahrenheit catch you.”

     He nodded and sat up straight, staring ahead into the darkness and gripping his gun tight.  Nora dragged herself up the stairs to Hancock’s room and slipped in through the double doors, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her guns.

     Hancock was parked near the window, leaned back in his chair with his boots resting on the windowsill.  Nora could sense the tension coming off him as palpably as the cigarette smoke around his face.

     “Late night, love?”

     The words were simple but Nora didn’t miss the hard undercut, the barely-disguised anger and sarcasm.  He wasn’t a subtle man, no matter how hard he tried, wearing his heart on his ruffled sleeve.

     “Yeah, but no one got injured or killed, so it’s a win,” Nora replied, depositing her shotgun and newly-acquired rifle on the table nearby.  Both needed cleaning but she couldn’t think of anything besides crashing face-first into the nearest mattress.

     “Nice to know you don’t need my help,” Hancock said, watching her carefully. “I was starting to get bored, you know.  Out and about with a beautiful woman, dealing justice and livin’ free.”

     Nora resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m a bit too tired to stroke your ego right now, John,” she said, “I was doing just fine surviving the Commonwealth before you and I hooked up, anyway.”

     She bent to unlace her boots as Hancock let his chair thump back onto all four legs. 

     “If you don’t need me, why did you come back here?”

     “Because I want you,” Nora replied, toeing off her boots and settling back into the bed. “Thought you wanted me, too, but if that’s not the case, fine.  Give me four hours to sleep and then I’ll leave.”

     There was a tense pause.  Nora threw one arm over her eyes to block out the little bit of light peeking through the windows.  She could feel Hancock staring at her but refused to make the first move.

     “What the fuck is your problem now, Nora?”

     “I don’t have a problem,” she said, “If you do, then I’m not sure what to tell you.  I’ll be out with Curie and Dogmeat soon and you can continue doing whatever you please with Cait.”

     Shit.  She hadn’t meant to mention Cait, but the words had slipped out before she could stop them.  Shit, shit, triple shit.  Now she was going to sound like some idiotic jealous teenager.

     “You’re pissed because of _her_?”

     Nora didn’t answer.  Hancock stood from his chair and settled on the edge of the mattress, his thigh pressing against hers. 

     “Look, I’m not sure _what_ I did or she did or whatever, but…”

     Nora scoffed. “Seriously, John?  ‘I’ll be counting down the days’?  Way to reassure me you actually want this relationship to go somewhere, shamelessly flirting with this woman better suited to you when I just made it clear that I’ve got a son to take care of --”

     “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hancock said, holding up a hand.  Nora scowled at him and flopped onto her side, refusing to look at him.

     “I didn’t mean anything with Cait,” he continued, “Really.  It was just a…reflex.”

     “That’s a fucking terrible excuse.”

     “Yes, it is,” Hancock agreed, his voice no longer frustrated but tired and defeated. “You know I run my mouth.  I’m sorry, love.  Really.”

     Nora didn’t answer, squeezing her eyes shut and trying desperately to think of something mature to say.  After a few silent moments, Hancock climbed over her and settled in front of the wall she had previously been staring holes into.

     “Next time I do something brainless like that, punch me,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead.  Nora felt herself relax into his touch even though she didn’t want to.  She didn’t want to let him off that easy.  She buried her face against the pillow and hoped he hadn’t noticed her will slipping.  She thought back momentarily to arguments she’d once had with Nate, realizing she suddenly understood why he had been so upset with her over the banter she shared with her male classmates during dance, why he had scowled anytime he came to pick her up and they were still working.  Those few fights had ended in tired truces, nothing truly solved before being pushed to the back over time.

     _Okay, Nate, now I get it.  A little late, but I get it._

     “Sunshine?”

     Nora drew in a breath and opened her eyes, meeting the depthless black ones of her ghoul in the weak morning light.  His forehead was crinkled in concern.

     “It’s alright,” she said, scooting closer into his embrace.  He smelled like Grape Mentats and tobacco.

     “I meant what I said,” he said, draping an arm over her protectively. “I might say some stupid shit at times but I know where I belong.  Right here with you.”

 

     They were somewhere along the coast, holed up in an old farmhouse while rain drummed steadily on the metal roof, when Cait threw herself into a chair across from Hancock and fixed him with a suspicious glare.

     “Why is she being so nice to me?”

     “Who, Curie?”

     “No,” Cait answered, rolling her eyes. “Nora.  What does she want from me?”

     Hancock frowned and over at Nora.  She was bent over the farmhouse’s old chem station, peering intently at a flask of some viscous red liquid.  Curie was next to her, pointing and chattering excitedly.  Both were out of earshot but Hancock lowered his voice anyway.

     “Um, Cait…”

     He paused and set aside his shotgun, wondering how to phrase things.  In the three weeks since the four had left Goodneighbor, Nora and Cait had constantly been at odds.  While she had reassured Hancock she wasn’t still upset about their bout of flirting, it was obvious to everyone that the two women weren’t particularly well-suited to each other’s company.  Cait was a good fighter, but she didn’t like that Nora was their unofficial leader and had not been shy about voicing her opinions concerning her battle strategies.  Nora told her she was strung-out and sloppy, so Cait retaliated by double-fisting the Psycho the next time they ran into a posse of Super Mutants.  It didn’t help that Nora and Curie got along famously, prompting even further division in the group, until Hancock was tired enough of the tension that he had begun to seriously considering just heading back to Sanctuary with Dogmeat.

     …and here Cait thought Nora was being nice to her.  By her own standards, Nora had been downright mean of late.

     “I know I’m not a riot to be around,” Cait said, interrupting his reverie. “But she hasn’t told me to fuck off yet.  She fixed my bat and gave me a gun, a sleeping bag, and food every night.  What’s her game?  You seem to know her best.”

     Hancock still wasn’t sure what to say.  Had this woman been so mistreated her short life that Nora’s endless attitude actually felt like kindness?

     “She doesn’t have a game,” Hancock said, “Nora’s about as transparent as they come.  Honest.”

     Cait gave him another suspicious look and then stood abruptly, striding purposefully over to where Nora and Curie stood.  Hancock tensed, half-expecting an altercation of some sort to erupt, but Cait only tapped Nora’s shoulder gently.

     “You got a second to chat?  Privately?”

     Nora nodded and beckoned to the opposite corner of the room, where they sat across from each other on a broken couch.  Cait began talking, gesturing with her hands occasionally as Nora listened and nodded.  Her back was straight, tense, but gradually relaxed as the minutes passed.  Hancock watched, trying to make out what they were saying, but he couldn’t understand it between the distance, the incessant rain, and Cait’s heavy accent.

     “As a Miss Nanny bot, I was programmed to make Stimpaks,” Curie informed him, sitting in Cait’s abandoned chair and plopping down the flask of what looked like blood. “I was able to synthesize a replacement for type-O blood and combine it with antiseptic and pain killers, but in this synth body, I seem to be unable to mix the components in the necessary quantities to make a viable Stimpak. I also lack the proper preservatives, but Madame believes we can find some in a pre-war hospital not far from here…”

     She continued to babble on, heedless of the fact that Hancock wasn’t really listening.  After a while, Nora and Cait returned, still talking.  Nora picked up her Pip-Boy and began flipping through the dials as Cait looked over her shoulder.

     “Vault 95….right here.  Not far from Somerville.”

     “I don’t know if the damned thing is actually there or not,” Cait said, “Or what kind of ‘Wealth wonders might be holed up there.”

     “Usually only Ferals and molerats in the old Vaults,” Nora replied, “But since it’s so close to Somerville, we can scope it out before we go in.”

     “Where are we going?” Curie asked brightly, apparently unfazed by this sudden, drastic change in Nora and Cait’s relationship.

     “South,” Nora answered, “Pretty far.  You’re welcome as always, but this is a detour so you don’t have to come.”

     “Where’s Nora Wilson and what have you done with her?”

     Nora shot Hancock a dark look, which he returned with a bewildered shrug.

     “I’ll give you the details later,” she said, “Don’t look at me like that.”


	45. Atom By Atom

     “Daddy, what is that thing?”

     Duncan tugged on his cuff anxiously, eyeing the teleporter.  MacCready was a tad flabbergasted to see the damned thing actually put together.  He had left to escort one of Daisy’s caravans south and come back to Sanctuary to see that Nora and Sturges had finally, really, _incredibly_ , built it.  For weeks it had been nothing but scrap and an old computer console, but there it stood in all its ugly aluminum glory.

     “It’s something that’s going to help Nora find her little boy,” MacCready replied after a few minutes, “It’ll take her to the people that have him.”

     “Why would they take someone else’s baby?”

     “Your guess is as good as mine, buddy.”

     Duncan nodded and clutched his toy rocket ship to his chest possessively.  MacCready took his hand – no longer thin and weak – and lead him up the main road back towards the old house they had been occupying.  Near the common house, they encountered Piper and Preston, who were dragging tables and chairs outside around the spit roast.

     “Someone else getting married?”

     “Piper suggested we have a celebration for Nora,” Preston answered, huffing as he shoved a particularly heavy table into place.

     “She’s been hiding for the last two days,” Piper explained, “She’s decided to leave first thing in the morning and she’s really wound up.  I figure she needs to relax a little before diving into the belly of the beast.”

     MacCready nodded. “That thing isn’t going to…you know…”

     Piper and Preston exchanged glances and then Piper shrugged.  Duncan looked at them curiously, apparently hoping to hear some juicy bit of adult conversation.

     “All we can do is hope and pray,” Preston said after a bit, “She only gets one shot at it.”

     “One shot at what?” Duncan chirped, eyes wide.

     “Nothing, buddy.”

     “Why do we have to pray?  Is someone going to hurt her?”

     “No, Duncan,” Preston interjected with a kind smile, “We’re just hoping she won’t get lost along the way.  Want to come help me carve up the radstag for tonight?”

     Duncan’s eyes widened and he nodded excitedly at the prospect of knives and gore, hurrying off towards the butchering rack ahead of Preston.  MacCready sighed heavily.  It felt wrong to lie to his son about life’s harsh realities, but he could never bring himself to spit out the truth.  Not when he was still so little and had already lost so much.

     Piper pulled out a chair and flopped down, fanning herself with her hat. “Is it just me, or is it hotter than usual this month?”

     MacCready glanced up at the cloudless sky, bright and crisp with afternoon sun.  It was hot.  And muggy.  The ground was saturated regularly with almost nightly rain, then burnt dry and crackling once the sun rose and all the puddles dried up.  Nora and Daisy had both called it hurricane weather but failed to elaborate on what that was, exactly.

     He sat down next to Piper and lit a cigarette, glancing uneasily back at the teleporter.  Leave it to Nora to trust a machine to take her apart atom by atom, send her God only knew where, and then put her safely back together.

 

     Nora surveyed herself in the broken remnants of a mirror on the bedroom wall, fiddling with her clothes and readjusting bits of armor that she’d already fixed three times.  The storm shutters – metal plates Sturges had built over all the windows to keep out rain and radstorms – were closed, blocking out most of the settlement noises but also the fitful breezes that drifted in off the lake.  It was fucking _hot._   Too hot for her to wear the vault suit.

     She pulled off the armor and dropped it onto her bed, then unzipped the old suit and peeled it off like a sweaty, smelly second skin.  With a sigh she left it on the floor in front of the mirror and went back to rummaging through the trunk of clothing shoved against the opposite wall.  Taking clothing and armor off dead bodies had sickened her to gagging at first, but she got over it quick.  Living in the wasteland meant everything wore out quicker or ended up covered in blood – she had to take it off dead bodies, buy clothes someone else had taken off dead bodies, or leave it to rot into the dirt.

     After a few minutes of unsatisfying searching, Nora gave up and sat back on the threadbare carpet, forehead resting on her knees as she willed herself to relax.  She was excited and terrified at the same time, touched that Piper had set up a party for her and all her friends had flocked to Sanctuary, but so nervous that she was certain if she tried to talk to anyone or eat anything she’d throw up.  She hadn’t been this anxious since Shaun’s birth, when they’d lain her flat and put up that blue curtain, when she’d had to call Nate’s name three times to get his attention after the doctor yanked out her sticky newborn and placed him in his father’s arms.

     What would it take to get Shaun this time?  Who were the people that had him, what kind of fight would they put up?  What supplies was she going to need?  How the hell was she going to get back to Sanctuary without the teleporter and with a ten-year-old who would most likely be confused and scared shitless?  Was it worth taking him away from the only home he’d ever known?

      After a few minutes, Nora stood and grabbed the first thing she could reach from the trunk and shook it out.  She couldn’t sit around in her underwear obsessing all night.

     “Hey there, sunshine.”

     Nora jumped and dropped the clothes, then turned and scowled at the smirking ghoul standing in the doorway.

     “Trying to give me a heart attack?  Fuck.  How long have you been standing there?”

     “Just long enough to admire the view,” Hancock replied, “How long have you been in here obsessing?”

     “I can’t help it.”

     “I know,” Hancock replied, coming up and wrapping his arms around her. “Which is why we’re all going to party tonight before you go.  Loosen you up some.”

     “If I loosen up, I’ll fall apart.”

     Hancock didn’t say anything but hugged her tighter.  His frock coat was warm from the sunshine.  Nora leaned into him, the images of her baby boy still flashing across her mind like clips from a broken film reel.  Shaun pink and squalling as Nate rocked him gently in the dark hospital room.  The first time he’d smiled at her, wide and gummy.  Playing on the rocket ship rug in the nursery, rocking unsteadily on all fours as he tried to crawl.  Sitting up in his high chair with pureed peaches all over his face.

     Nora let out a small laugh, unbidden and unexpected, at the memory.

     “What’s so funny?”

     “I was just thinking about him,” she said, “Nate taught him how to blow raspberries so he started doing it constantly.  Codsworth was trying to feed him one evening and he just kept sputtering and spitting everything back and then giggling.”

     Hancock gave a small hum of amusement into her shoulder. “You’ll get him back, love.”

    

     The party Piper had arranged went great; Nora managed not to vomit or faint and even laughed a few times.  She spent most of it glued to her chair, picking absently at the venison Preston had fixed and not really anything.  Codsworth had scolded her and insisted she needed her strength so she’d taken three bites to appease him, then pushed it aside once he was gone.  Piper brought her a Gwinnett from Drinkin’ Buddy and talked her ear off for an hour, but she heard very little of it.  Once the celebration began to break up, she took to strolling the perimeter of Sanctuary like Preston usually did, checking all the fencing and turrets.  Dogmeat followed on her heels as though he knew she was leaving and was determined not to be left behind.

     After her third check of the defenses – doubled in recent weeks against any more Super Mutants attacks and the possibility of retaliation from the Institute – she began making her way back towards home.  Nick was walking on the opposite side of the road; he tipped his hat at her and kept going.  Preston and Lucy were sitting on the porch of the common house, hand-in-hand and deep in discussion.  Mac had long disappeared to his own space with a sleeping Duncan draped over one shoulder; Cait, Piper, and Deacon were engaged in a card game of some sort, and Curie and Codsworth had claimed the chem station as she quizzed him about whatever pre-war medical knowledge he might have.

     “My late master was a doctor,” Codsworth was telling her as Nora passed, “I think he wanted to work with veterans, being one himself.  Psychiatry and the like.”

     “Ah, yes, there were many great strides done in mental health in the years before the war,” Curie replied, “Sadly, that data has probably all been lost…”

     Nora held in a sigh and kept walking, eventually ending up back in her own house, stretched out on the couch with her head in Hancock’s lap as she stared absently at the ceiling.  They’d shared an inhaler of Jet and her head swam.  Hancock ran his fingers through her hair, the feeling slow and exaggerated, and she sat up slowly to kiss him.  They made love on the couch before the high wore off completely and then collapsed into bed side by side.

     She fell asleep and then woke with a start, certain that morning had come and gone and Sturges had dismantled the teleporter already.  It was still dark out, however, and the time on her Pip-Boy read 4:45am.  She took a deep, steadying breath and slid out of bed to pad down the hall and gather up their discarded clothing.  Hancock was awake when she came back in and gave her a gentle smile in the dark.

     “Can’t sleep?”

     “Might as well go and get this over with,” Nora said, stepping into her jeans.  Hancock nodded silently.

     Twenty minutes later, just as the first pink rays of sunshine were starting to peek over the horizon, they walked together up to the teleporter, hand in hand with Dogmeat following.  Sturges was already parked at the control console and Preston stood next to it, arms folded and laser musket hanging off his back.

     “You ready to do this?”

     Nora nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

     “Alright, then, let’s fire her up.”

     He flipped a few switches and the generators hummed to life – all four of them -- then the teleporter lit up.  Bright blue light flooded the space, followed by the whir and swoosh of whatever mechanics were housed inside the reflector platform. 

     “Alright, stand right up there in the middle and hold _real_ still.”

     Dogmeat whined and tried to follow her up onto the platform, but Hancock held him back.  She turned and stood in the center as Sturges had said, heart pounding in her ears.  The machinery’s noise had attracted onlookers – Nick and Piper from a nearby porch, Eunice the ghoul woman by the bridge, Deacon in his stupid sunglasses.  She could see MacCready watching them from his lookout post.  He lifted one hand in a short wave.

     Nora wanted to wave back, but she felt magnetized to the spot, too petrified to move.  She was prepared for whatever was on the other side – her shotgun in hand, 10mm on her hip, and rifle hanging from a strap across her back.  She’d stuffed a switchblade into her boot and her lightweight pack was filled with Stimpaks, purified water, Rad-X, and RadAway.  She could feel the hard lump of Mac’s toy soldier in her front pocket.

     The machinery began to whir even louder and then something burst over her head.  A bit of hose flailed around by her left ear.

     “Shit – ah, don’t worry about that – come on – I’ve got everything under control!”

     Nora closed her eyes and willed herself not to panic.  Someone was yelling and she could hear Dogmeat whining pitifully.

     “Here we go!” Sturges hollered over the noise, “Ready in three, two, one…”

     Nora felt something like an electrical current zip through her body before everything turned white and the noise disappeared.


	46. Too Late

     If he was being completely honest with himself, the woman who had come through the teleporter wasn’t what Shaun had expected.

     He told himself that he should be prepared for any reaction, any eventuality, but like any human being, he’d formed an image of what he expected his mother to be before she had actually gotten there.  He had her records from the Vault, which were pretty basic – full name, married and maiden; height, weight, hair color, eye color; occupation and education.  He had read over her Vault-Tec application, the scanned copy still in her neat, gentle script, dozens of times, trying to glean any kind of information from it he could.  Nora Wilson was a lawyer, a military wife - smart, dedicated, resourceful...perhaps still retaining a little bit of that Old World idealism?

     The woman standing in his quarters, eyes wide and bewildered, seemed so _hard_.  She was heavily armed, dressed in ragged denim and a faded leather hat, her arms and cheeks pink with sunburn, standing stock still as she stared at him.  She looked exactly like the rumors had described her.  Shaun had dismissed most of them – that Diamond City synth had a flair for the melodramatic, after all – but there she was.  Rough, unrefined, and probably only one provocation away from extreme violence.

     “This is bullshit,” she spat at him.  He could see her grip tighten on the shotgun she carried. “Where is Shaun?  What did you do with him?”

     “I assure you, I am Shaun,” he replied as calmly as he could, hoping to defuse her anger. “In the Vault, you had no concept of the passage of time.  You were released and went looking for the son you had lost.  Is it that much of a leap to imagine that it was not ten years that passed, but _sixty_?”

     He waited as she stared at him.  After a moment of terse silence, her grip on her shotgun loosened.  It dropped and he gave a silent sigh of relief.  She let go of it and let the gun clatter to the floor, stepping back until she was pressed against the wall.  The color had drained from her face and her gray eyes looked watery with unshed tears.

     “You look just like Jim.”

 

     Nora leaned against the wall to steady herself as her legs trembled.  She’d gone through the teleporter, survived, followed that voice down into the Institute…and found a 10-year-old synth child in a glass observation room of some sort.  Just as she was starting to panic and the kid was starting to panic, in walked her father-in-law’s clone.

     She knew before he said it who he was – there was no way someone could look so much like Jim Wilson without actually being related.  The family resemblance was uncanny, despite Shaun’s nearly white hair and beard.  His eyes were the same – the same as his father’s, his uncle’s, his grandfather’s.  His cheekbones, his large, thick-veined hands, even his _voice_ – it was all the same.

     Nora could feel the tidal wave – that inescapable reality that her world was dead and gone, had been for over two centuries – come crashing towards her.  It was almost impossible to outrun this time.  Here was Shaun, here was the child she had been searching for, killing and fighting and nearly dying for, in front of her, an old man.  Where was there to go from here?

     “I know this is a lot to take in,” Shaun said, “But please, try to keep an open mind.”

     Nora swallowed a lump in her throat. “They took you from me…they killed your father.  Why are you still here?”

     “I am the Director of the Institute,” Shaun replied calmly, “It’s leader.  Come with me and I’ll show you everything we’ve been working for.”

 

     Everything was so… _clean._

     Nora followed Shaun in a daze, astonished and impressed and confused all at the same time.  She was inside the Institute, being given a personal tour by the director, who also happened to be her son.  She had been introduced to the heads of Bioscience and Advanced Systems, had mingled with humans and synths who were indistinguishable from them except by the differently-colored jumpsuits.  The boogeyman of the Commonwealth had flung open its doors and welcomed her warmly.

     “Mother, this is Allie Filmore, the head of Facilities.”

     Nora snapped out of her reverie and tried to smile at the kind-faced woman in yellow who held out her hand.

     “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she said, “You must be so happy to finally be here.”

     Nora nodded vaguely and shook her hand.  Shaun began explaining what exactly Facilities and Allie Filmore did, but she wasn’t listening.  She felt dumbstruck, gawking at the gleaming white structures around her.  She was completely out of place in her Commonwealth uniform, still heavily armed and a little sunburnt, too; for the first time since that day she’d noticed Hancock had his eyes on her, she felt self-conscious.

     “We’ll leave you to your work, Allie,” she heard Shaun say.  She tore her eyes away from the rows of digital control panels and back to the people in front of her.  Allie gave her another kind smile and a warm goodbye, then Shaun led her away.

     “Are you alright, Mother?”

     Nora tried not to cringe at the formality. “I’m just a little…overwhelmed.”

     “Understandable.”

     “There are people on the surface who are waiting for me to return,” Nora continued, “Friends.  I don’t want them to think something has happened to me.”

     “We can send a courier to wherever you may need,” Shaun said, “You are welcome to come and go as you please, of course, but I understand that the teleporter can be a rough ride.”

     _No shit._ Nora had promptly fallen over when she landed inside the Institute; every nerve tingling as though they’d all fallen asleep at once.  It had taken a good five minutes to regain enough control to walk.

     “No offense, but there will be…an uproar if I don’t tell them in person that I’m alright,” Nora said, “It’s fine.  Whatever.  Is there a place I can rest for a while?”

  

     Inside the Institute, lacking any sort of natural light or environment, it was difficult for her to gauge the passage of time.  Shaun took her to a spacious private room, white like everything else, and showed her all the amenities and how to call for assistance.  Then, at long last, she was alone.

     There was a shower in the bathroom; she stripped down and then spent an inordinate amount of time standing in the glass cylinder under steaming water, trying to make sense of all the tangled threads of thoughts and emotions that crowded her brain.

      Shaun wanted her to stay here, underground, with the Institute.  Wanted her to work with them…but towards what end, she wasn’t really sure.  His answers were vague and full of platitudes about “humanity’s best hope” and “building a better future”.  He had carefully explained that synths were _not_ people, but then called them “family.”

     The thought made Nora queasy.  Her DNA, her stolen son, used to engineer all of these beings and for what purpose? 

     She brushed wet hair out of her eyes and took a steadying breath.  She needed someone to talk to, someone to sort it all out and help her decide what to do, where to go from here.  Hancock or Preston or even Piper would be better at deciding whether or not to put trust in this old man that was, incredibly, her son.  Nate would have known what to do.

     The tears came without stopping when she thought of Nate.  Frozen, dead, in the cryo pod for sixty years.  He had been dead longer than most of the people she knew had even been alive.  She had promised him she’d find their baby, bring him home, rear him as best she could alone in the wasteland.  She had blown away the bastard that shot him, but he was still gone.  She had found Shaun – sweet, pudgy Shaun who was just learning to crawl – and now he had no need of her.  It didn’t matter that she’d found him.  He hadn’t needed to be found.

     She didn’t have Nate.  She’d been too late for Shaun.  Everything about the life she had known and loved was gone.

 


	47. Powder Keg

     “You want me to do what?”

     “Recover an escaped synth,” Shaun repeated, “He was ‘liberated’ by the organization known as the Railroad and his memories were wiped.  New ones have been implanted and he’s taken over the Raider gang at Libertalia.”

     Nora rubbed her face tiredly.  She and Preston had already cleared that place out twice since reinstating the Minutemen; the idea of going back made her head hurt. 

     “How do you know he’s a synth?”

     “We know our own,” Shaun answered, “He thinks his name is Gabriel.  I’d like you to go with one of our Coursers to reclaim him for the Institute.”

     “What are you going to do with him?”

     “He’ll have his memories wiped and be returned to work here at the Institute.  Safe and under control, where he belongs.”

     Nora tried to hold in her sigh.  If escaped synths were becoming Raiders, she and Desdemona were going to have a long discussion about those memory wipes Dr. Amari offered.  She didn’t particularly like the idea of bringing a synth back to the Institute, but Shaun was her son…

     “Mother?”

     “Yes, fine,” she said, “Have your Courser meet me at Libertalia in a week.”

     “A week?”

     “Yes, a week,” Nora replied firmly, “I can’t keep my people hanging, wondering if I’m even alive or not.  I’m going home and then I’ll make it over to Libertalia the old-fashioned way.”

     “You always have a home here in the Institute, Mother.”

     “I understand and I thank you,” she answered, trying to soften her tone. “But…you can’t expect me to want all this immediately.  I’ve been through enough change in the last year.  I need time to adjust.”

 

     It was dark when she teleported back into the Commonwealth.  She landed on the road to Concord, in sight of the Red Rocket and a half mile off her intended target.  She hit the ground and stumbled forward, catching herself on the rusted remains of a guard rail as her nerve endings tingled.  This time wasn’t as bad as the first, but it was still jarring.

     She straightened herself after a minute and began the walk back up to Sanctuary.  She could smell hubflowers and wild mutfruit, feel the cool nip of the coming autumn in the air.  Even two hundred years later, irradiated and a skeleton of its former beauty, crawling with monsters and Raiders, the Commonwealth was home and she felt like she was finally back on solid ground.

     As always, her beloved German shepherd was the first to greet her, bounding across the bridge and barking excitedly.  She knelt for the overjoyed hound and kissed his furry face as the alarm went up through the settlement.  She had only been gone two days, but it felt like so much longer; seeing her settlers and friends had never made her happier.

     She was enveloped in a crushing mass of bodies and questions, people asking where her son was and what she’d seen and what had happened while she was gone.  The questions came too quickly for her to answer any of them, and finally, Preston pushed towards her and put an arm around her shoulder.

     “You look exhausted, General,” he said loudly.  Nora gave him a grateful nod and smiled.

     He guided her back up towards the little yellow house, arm still around her shoulders, Dogmeat at her heels, as the crowd began to disperse.

     “We need to talk,” Nora said, once there were no other hangers-on in earshot. “I need your help with something.”

     “Anything,” Preston replied, “But take a night to rest, alright?”

     “I will,” Nora said, “Thank you, Preston.”

     “Good night, General.”

     Nora waved at him and slipped inside, shutting the door carefully behind her.  The one person she had been looking for most was waiting on the couch, in the dark as usual, long legs stretched in front of him, surrounded by a plume of cigarette smoke and the smell of Jet.

     “Good to see you again, Sunshine.”

     Nora dropped her bag and strode over to him, leaning forward to press a long kiss to his thin mouth.  He pulled her into his lap, fingers tangled in her hair as they kissed.  Nora pulled back and leaned her forehead against his, chest heavy.

     “You don’t have Shaun.”

     Nora sighed and shook her head, eyes stinging. “I was too late.”

     “They didn’t…?”

     “No,” she answered, “He’s…he’s sixty years old, John.”

     Stunned silence hung between them.  Nora shifted so she was sitting next to him on the couch, head on his shoulder and eyes closed to keep her tears in.

     “What happened in there?”

 

     It was barely dawn when Nora called a meeting with the people she trusted most, gathering them in the dim light of her living room to avoid eavesdropping from any other settlers who might be up and about.  Piper and MacCready sat side-by-side on the couch, Sturges had taken the old armchair, and Hancock stood leaned against the wall.  She was parked on a stool next to Preston, staring at a spot on the coffee table as she told them what had happened inside the Institute and what she had found out down there.

     “There are synth infiltrators,” she said, “That rumor has turned out to be mostly true.  I don’t know who but I overhead some conversations I wasn’t supposed to.”

     “Infiltrators?” Piper repeated incredulously, “They really are replacing people?”

     Nora nodded. “There’s an entire division devoted to keeping track of synth whereabouts, tracking down runaways, stuff like that.  The Synth Retention Bureau.  I tried to get into one of their computers but they’ve got pretty heavy security there.”

     “What do we do?”

     “At this point, I have no clue,” Nora replied, “I could care less if someone is a synth but I can’t let them kill and replace innocent people.  Piper, I need you to do some more digging.  Quietly, because if people find out, all hell will break loose.”

     Piper nodded. “No idea if it’s McDonough or not?”

     “No,” Nora said, exchanging a quick glance with Hancock.  Outside of Goodneighbor, she was the only one who knew he and Guy McDonough were brothers.

     “Sturges, we have to get the teleporter dismantled as quick as possible,” she continued, “I don’t want to attract the Brotherhood’s attention any more than we already have.”

     “I’ll have it gone by dinner,” he said, “Doesn’t take long to tear something apart.”

     Nora gave him a grateful smile and continued. “I need Preston to help me take care of a Raider problem over at Libertalia.  The leader is a synth and they want me to take care of it.”

     “Libertalia again?” Preston asked her with a sigh and she nodded.

     “Libertalia again,” she said, “There will be a Courser there to help us, though.”

     “You’re working with Coursers now?” MacCready piped up, eyeing her. 

     “If I have to,” Nora answered, “I don’t like the Institute but…I don’t know, maybe with my son at the helm we can come to some sort of truce.  In the meantime, Mac, I need you to stay here in Sanctuary and keep the place from being raided again while Preston and I are gone.  Time to work for your retainer.”

     “You point, I shoot.”

     “John, you have to get back to Goodneighbor as soon as possible,” Nora continued, “I don’t know for sure but I think the SRB may be on to Dr. Amari.  We need to warn her and the rest of the Railroad to be on high alert.”

     He nodded silently.  Nora let out a heavy breath and stood from her stool. “Please, everyone be careful,” she said, “The Institute is everywhere and while I don’t think anyone in this room is on their shit list, we’re in a powder keg between them, the Railroad, and the Brotherhood.”


	48. Gabriel

     “You’re sure about this?”

     Nora looped her arms around Hancock’s neck and kissed him. “As sure as I can be.”

     “You really want an Institute lapdog stealing all your fun?”

     “Libertalia isn’t fun,” Nora replied, “It’s a royal pain in the ass.  In six weeks when another Raider gang decides to take over the place, you can come along and see for yourself.”

     “You know I ain’t thrilled about you helping the Institute, Nora.”

     Nora looked down, avoiding his eyes. “I’m just trying to build a little goodwill with them, John,” she said, “I’m going to talk to Shaun when I go back.  Diplomacy, remember?”

     “Yeah, I remember,” Hancock answered.  There was an edge to his voice.  Nora gave him another kiss and stepped back.

     “I love you, John.”

     “I love you, too, Sunshine.”

     He helped her adjust her supply pack as Preston joined them, having said his goodbyes to Lucy.

     “Ready to head out?”

     “Ready.”

     “You bring her back in one piece, got it Garvey?” Hancock said, fixing Preston with a hard stare.

     “I always do,” Preston replied with a smile.  Nora rolled her eyes and turned away, whistling for Dogmeat as she started walking.  Preston caught up with her after a moment and the two fell into step, the sun at their backs, towards Libertalia.

 

     Libertalia’s Raider hangout was built from the half-sunken remains of an old freighter ship on a little spit of land where Nora remembered vacationing once with her mother.  She and Preston made it there after three days of walking, both of them already tired and damp from the constant drizzle of rain.  As they made their way through Nahant towards the pier, Nora spotted the tell-tale black trench coat of a Courser.  As they approached, the synth turned to them, face set in an almost blank expression made all the more unreadable by his dark sunglasses.

     “Who’re you supposed to be, Blade?” Nora asked, eyebrow raised.  The Courser’s expression barely seemed to register her sarcasm.

     “Designation X6-88, ma’am,” he replied in a neutral tone, “I’ve already neutralized the perimeter guard.  When you’re ready, we can begin the assault on the main flotilla.”

     Dogmeat sniffed the Courser’s boots suspiciously, then took several steps back and eyed him suspiciously. 

     “Are you sure about this, Nora?” Preston asked, “I’m not exactly filled with confidence about this, you know.”

     X6 turned his blank gaze on Preston. “I am the Institute’s finest,” he said, the barest hint of a bruised ego apparent in his voice. “I have extensive combat training and field experience.  I am perfectly capable of taking care of Libertalia on my own if need be.  You’re welcome to stay behind.”

     Preston opened his mouth to retaliate, but Nora held up a hand to silence them both. “Ladies, you’re both pretty,” she said, “Let’s focus here, alright?”

     “As you wish, ma’am.”

     Preston didn’t say anything, but Nora could feel his irritation like radiated heat.  She held in a sigh and unhooked her binoculars from her belt and peered through them at the Raider camp.  As X6 has promised, the perimeter guard was neutralized; Nora counted four different bodies hanging off the floating catwalks, each riddled with smoking holes.  The rest of the gang had retreated farther into the flotilla, weapons out as they paced nervously.

     “You put them all on high alert,” Nora said, “We’re going to have to make this quick.”

     “I’ll go with the synth,” Preston answered, his voice laced with a deep dislike he usually reserved for Gunners. “Can you cover us with your rifle?”

     “I’ll do my best,” Nora replied, “Take out a few and then join you before we go up to the freighter.”

     “Sounds good.  Don’t forget these.”

     He fished a small bottle of Rad-X out of his pocket and tossed it to her.  She smiled and popped one of the chalky pills gratefully.  The last time they’d been at Libertalia, she’d taken a dive into the water when a catwalk broke; the amount of rads she’d soaked up had her puking for a full day afterwards.

     “Ready when you two are.”

     “What about your dog, ma’am?” X6 asked, glancing at Dogmeat, who was still hanging nervously behind Nora and Preston.

     “He can take care of himself,” Nora replied, “Let’s get this over with.”

    

     As usual when it came to taking out Raiders, Nora ended up abandoning Plan A after taking only two shots.  She managed to fell a single Raider with a wicked-looking machete in her hands; after the crack of her rifle, the rest began to scatter.  Two turrets chugged to life and began spitting out bullets in her direction as she dove for cover.  She dropped her rifle in a semi-safe spot and loaded her shotgun, then pounded across the rickety catwalk towards the floating shack where Preston and X6 had taken cover.  Dogmeat followed close behind, nails clicking on the wood. 

     “I thought you were able to take out more than one with the rifle,” X6 dead-panned as she ducked down next to Preston.

     “If I had a silencer, possibly,” she shot back, “Once they get moving, it’s damn near impossible to pick ‘em off.”

     X6 didn’t reply.  Preston gave her a look and cranked his laser musket.

     “This is getting more and more fun by the minute.”

     Nora ignored him and stood up from her cover, blasting shells into two Raiders that came charging towards them.  A spray of blood, the splash of water, and the bodies floated away into the debris.

     The three split up, each taking a section of the flotilla.  Dogmeat followed Nora closely, pulling Raiders down by the leg so she could shoot easier.  They advanced towards the freighter at a steady pace, the water behind red with blood.  Nora was climbing over the pilot house of a half-sunken trawler when she heard the whistle.

     It took three seconds for her to register the fin-tailed mini nuke sailing through the air directly towards her and another three for her to decide what she had to do.

     “Dogmeat, in!”

     She dove into the water, enveloped into the icy darkness just as the mini nuke hit the pilot house.  She felt the shock wave reverberate through the water and push her deeper down.  She shrugged off her bag and kicked furiously for the surface, lungs screaming for air.  She hit the surface with a gasp and glanced around; Dogmeat paddled furiously towards Preston, who was yelling her name.  She gulped in cold air and swam towards him and X6, navigating through bits of fiery debris that continued to rain down on the flotilla from the miniature mushroom cloud behind her.

     “We’re going to bomb this fucking place into the seabed,” Nora declared as Preston and X6 hauled her out of the freezing water. “If the artillery at the Castle can’t reach this far, we’ll build some closer.  I hate this damned place.”

     “Are you okay?” Preston asked, shrugging off his duster and draping it around her.  Dogmeat climbed up next to them and shook violently, spraying water everywhere.

     “I’m cold and I lost all my supplies,” she answered, teeth chattering. “But I’m not injured.”

     “It might be wise to retreat and try our luck again when you have dry clothes, ma’am,” X6 interjected.  His forehead was furrowed in irritation; the idea of retreating was obviously repulsive to him.  Nora shook her head as she unstrapped her Pip-Boy to dismantle it before it was permanently damaged.

     “No,” she said, “I’m so sick of this place.  We’re going to end this now.”

     Thankfully, neither Preston nor X6 objected.  She wrung out her hair and boots as best as she could, still clutching Preston’s duster around her shoulders as Dogmeat licked himself clean and shook the water off a few more times.  Preston helped her pull apart the Pip-Boy and dry off the pieces, then tucked them carefully into his pack.  The same went for her shotgun, all of the ammo for which was now at the bottom of the bay.  Preston offered her a spare revolver, a small piece that shot .38s, since she had also lost her trusty 10mm pistol. 

     “Hold up one second, ma’am,” X6 said when she stood to make her way towards the makeshift elevator onto the freighter.

     “What now?”

     “There’s something important I need to tell you,” he continued, “I’m going to give you B5-92’s reset code.  When he hears the code phrase, it will reset his cognitive processes and make him docile.  You’ll need to say ‘B5-92, initialize factory reset’, and then the pass phrase, ‘gamma-7-1-epsilon.’  Once he’s shut down, I can safely transport him back to the Institute.”

     Nora stared for a moment. “Are you serious?”

     X6 stared back. “Of course, ma’am.”

     “I’m not going to destroy this man’s identity and free will,” she said, remembering what Shaun had told her.  _He’ll have his memories wiped and be returned to work here at the Institute.  Safe and under control, where he belongs._

     “He’s a Raider,” Preston said, “I don’t much care how we put him down.”

     “It’s not a man,” X6 replied, “It’s a synth that is confused and dangerous.”

     “I will _not_ reset him,” Nora said, “It’s not going to happen.”

     X6 didn’t reply.  Nora shook her head, imagining the Raider suddenly freezing and drooping, like the little boy in the glass room had done.

     “I can’t force you to use the code, ma’am,” X6 said after a moment, “But I know it’s what Father would want.  I hope you’ll remember that.”

     Nora sucked in a frustrated breath but managed to hold her tongue. “Let’s get this over with.”

     The three climbed onto the elevator with a reluctant Dogmeat and rode across the water.  Nora clutched the revolver close to her side, a thousand voices debating her looming problem in her head.  Was it more humane to kill this Raider?  Would resetting him and sending him back to the Institute really be that terrible?  Was that justice for all the settlers and caravans this particular Raider gang had already killed and terrorized?

     She led the way through the makeshift shelter on the old freighter and emerged on the top level with the revolver drawn, Preston and X6 standing behind her.  The target, Gabriel/B5-92 or whatever he should be called, stood by the old pilot house, wearing a mile-long smirk.  Nora knew it; she had seen it dozens of times over on almost every Raider she had put down since crawling out of Vault 111.

     “A Courser?  Is the Institute so desperate for resources now that they’re stooping to stealing plunder from hard-working Commonwealth gangs?”

     Nora had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping back at him about the hard-working farmers he and his cronies had killed.  She eyed him for a moment, taking in the dirty blond hair and the numerous tattoos, mind racing as she tried to figure out what to do.

     “Gabriel,” she began after a moment, “You’re not who you think you are.”

     “What the hell are you talking about?”

     “You’re a synth,” she said, hoping that maybe, _maybe_ she could end this with her conscience intact. “You aren’t a man.”

     “You’re crazy,” Gabriel declared, shaking his head. “I remember my parents.  I remember where I grew up.  How would that happen if I was a synth?”

     “The memories were implanted,” Nora insisted, “They’re fake.  Come with us and we can end this without bloodshed.”

     “Ma’am,” X6 said behind her, a warning tone in his voice.

     “Your memories aren’t yours, Gabriel,” Nora said, “I’m sorry, but they’re all fake.”

     She looked at him, locking gazes for a moment.  She still had her revolver lifted, aimed for center mass.  Gabriel stared back, his smirk gone.  Something had occurred to him, something that made him almost ready to believe her.  For half a second, there was a flicker of fear in his dark eyes.

     At that moment, Nora suddenly realized why all the synths she’d met seemed so familiar.  The Courser she killed at Greenetech, H2-22 outside of Ticonderoga, all the workers inside the Institute.  The split second of doubt and fear in Gabriel’s eyes…she had seen it before.  She had seen it in that moment she looked at Nate when the bomb hit, when the ground shook and knocked her backward into his arms as she clutched baby Shaun to her chest.  As the cloud of dust and debris came racing towards them, she’d looked to him for comfort and, for the first time ever, she had seen fear in him.  Strong, easy-going Nate, never afraid of anything, was afraid in that moment.  His dark eyes were the same – the same as the Courser’s, as H2’s, as Gabriel’s.

     The synths weren’t just machines.  They were her DNA, beings built from the genetic code of her stolen son.  She couldn’t return Gabriel to the Institute.  She couldn’t continue the cycle, no matter what Shaun would or wouldn’t have wanted.

     “B5-92,” she began, lifting her revolver. “I’m sorry.”

     She squeezed the trigger.  His head snapped back as the bullet hit and he crumpled to the ground.  His cronies lunged forward at her, but Preston and X6 took them down without a word.  Nora stared at Gabriel’s body, shocked and sad and confused.  He looked like Nate had, a single revolver shot to the head, eyes blank under the bloody bullet hole.  He looked _human_.

     She heard X6 come up behind her.

     “I’m disappointed, ma’am.”

     She turned to remind him that she didn’t need or even care about his approval, but he was speaking into a small black speaker on his collar.

     “SRB, two to relay in, please.”

     He touched her shoulder and then she felt the jolt of electricity as everything went white.


	49. Judgement Call

     Preston stared in astonishment at the spot where Nora had disappeared alongside the Courser.  Dogmeat sniffed the ground and whined at him, brown eyes anxious.

     “Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head.  He had Nora’s Pip-Boy; she now was without her personal method of getting in and out of the Institute.  Dogmeat whined again and pushed his nose against Preston’s hand.  He sighed and thought for a moment.  If he managed to find a rowboat nearby that was still intact, he could cut across the bay, skirt the airport, and cut a bunch of time off the trip to Goodneighbor.  He didn’t particularly care for the place, but Hancock deserved to know what had happened and he would likely have access to a working two-way radio.  It was closer than both the Castle and Diamond City, at least; the only other safe places he knew of nearby were tiny settlements whose resources were already spread thin enough.

     “I’m really starting to dislike these Institute people,” Preston said to Dogmeat as he shouldered his musket. “Come on, boy.  Time to move out.”

 

     Nora managed to keep her feet steady when they landed inside the Institute.  She whirled on X6.

     “What the hell?” she demanded, “Why did you teleport me in here?”

     “Was I wrong in assuming you would like medical attention and an audience with your son once our mission at Libertalia was completed?”

     His flat tone and blank stare was infuriating.  Nora pursed her lips and shook her head.

     “Do you not realize that this is going to look like a fucking kidnapping?”

     Justin Ayo came up to them, eyebrows furrowed. “Where’s B5-92?”

     “Not now, Ayo,” Nora snapped, “X6, seriously?  You just left Preston there!”

     “He made it clear that he was perfectly capable of surviving on his own,” X6 replied, “I didn’t think he would continue to need your assistance, ma’am.”

     “What about the synth?” Ayo interjected, frowning now.

     “I said to can it, pencil neck!” Nora practically yelled, fumbling to holster her revolver before the temptation to shoot something overwhelmed her.  The revolver didn’t fit right in the holster custom-made for her 10mm.  She sighed in frustration and tossed the gun to the side.  They’d attracted onlookers, scientists goggling openly at her display, but at this point, she didn’t care.

     “My point isn’t about whether or not Preston can take care of himself,” she said to X6, glaring. “Of course he can take care of himself.  My point is that 1) you teleported me here without even asking me what I wanted, 2) the Institute has a pretty image on the surface and now this looks awfully like you just kidnapped the General of the Minutemen, and 3) I don’t like to leave the people who I care about and care about me wondering what the fuck is happening and where the hell I am!”

     With that, she turned and stormed out of the SRB, making for her room upstairs.  She needed to calm down and get a grip.

     In her room, she stripped out of her wet clothing and threw it in a corner, toweling off and slipping into one of the ugly Institute jumpsuits that had been left in the drawers beside the bed.  It was dry, at least.  She flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes, still fuming.  She’d lost all her supplies – valuable Stimpaks, ammunition, and food.  She’d lost her favorite handgun and her Minuteman hat.  She was cold and already feeling the nausea of minor radiation sickness.  Her friends had no idea where she was and her dog was probably going nuts with separation anxiety.

     Nothing was going according to the plan she had made for the day when she found Shaun. 

     Then again, most of the shit that had happened to her hadn’t been part of her plan.  Losing her mother shortly before graduating high school, quitting ballet, watching Nate go off to war, having him come home missing a leg, the nuclear apocalypse…

     The full weight of years of just reacting to shit as it happened seemed to press on her like a weight on her chest.  Her eyes burned with hot tears as she pressed her face into the pillow, allowing herself to cry in the silence and solitude.

     She guessed it was about twenty minutes later when she heard a soft beep and the door to her room slid open with a gentle hiss.

     “Ma’am?”

     She jumped up from the bed and swiped at her face furiously, hoping it wasn’t too puffy and red.  She peeked around the corner and saw Allie Filmore standing in the doorway, holding a large plastic box.

     “I heard about Libertalia,” she said, “I thought you might need a few things.”

     She held out the box, which Nora took carefully. “Um…thank you,” she stammered, “Word travels that fast?”

     “Down here, I’m afraid so,” Allie said with a kind smile, “If it’s any consolation, ma’am, I agree that X6-88 shouldn’t have been so eager to teleport you back in without explanation.”

     Nora tried to smile back. “You don’t have to call me ma’am,” she said, “If you don’t count the cryostasis, I’m probably younger, anyway.”

     “It’s, uh, habit,” Allie replied.  Nora opened the box and glanced inside.  There were several packets of the Institute’s food supplements, purified water, a syringe, and a baggie of Rad-Away.  Nora sighed in relief and took it out first, eager to flush her system before she spent the night vomiting.

     “I’m afraid I have no idea how to…you know,” Allie said, gesturing at the needle. “Never had occasion to use it.”

     “It’s okay, I’m pretty familiar,” Nora answered, “My, um…”

     She paused for a moment.  She’d never had to explain her relationship with Hancock to anyone before – what did she call him?  They hadn’t made an official commitment, so husband didn’t quite fit.  Boyfriend sounded stupid for a widow in her thirties.  Lover, paramour, chem-lord bed warmer?

     “Nora?”

     She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m drifty,” she said, “You learn how to use these things pretty quickly up top.”

     It took her three tries due to her natural tendency to flinch, but she managed to slide the needle into a vein and get the Rad-Away flowing.  The warm red liquid flooded her body with a soothing warmth, abating the nausea some as the bag drained slowly.

     “May I ask you a question, Nora?”

     “Sure.”

     Allie chewed her lip for a second. “What kept you going?”

     Nora blinked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

     “What kept you going looking for your son,” she clarified, “There are just so many obstacles up top…seems like most people would just give up.”

     “You sure know how to ask a loaded question,” Nora quipped, taking a bite from the food packet.  The dry squares were mealy and unappealing, but they filled her.

     “I’m sorry, you don’t have to --”

     “It’s okay, really,” Nora replied, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s my son…I couldn’t just give up on him.”

     Allie nodded, seemingly satisfied with Nora’s answer.  It didn’t even begin to encompass the desperation of a mother forcefully separated from her child, but it was all she could manage.

     They sat in silence for a moment before the door beeped and slid open.  Shaun stood on the threshold.

     “Mother.”

     Nora sighed. “Shaun.”

     “Are you alright?”

     “I’m fine,” she said, “Just fine.”

     Allie looked between them and then stood. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

     “Thank you again,” Nora replied, gesturing at the box Allie had brought her.  She smiled and left, the door slipping shut behind her.  Shaun took her place across from Nora and fixed his mother with that intense gaze.  It made her chest hurt, looking at him – it was like getting a glimpse of the future Nate never got to live out.

     “I wanted to apologize for…the way you were brought here,” he said at last, “No harm or deception was intended.  It was just a bad judgement call.”

     Nora felt her anger begin to slowly deflate, leaving behind half-hearted frustration. “It’s alright,” she replied, slumping in her seat.  What else could she say?

     “If you’re up to it, I wanted to show you something,” Shaun continued, “You didn’t get a chance to see most of the work we do here last time.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Well, there’s Bioengineering and Robotics in addition to all our other facilities,” Shaun said, “Mostly, though, I want you to see how synths are made.”


	50. Hubflowers and Holotapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The settlers blinked like lost children. MacCready rubbed at his eyes again as Duncan tugged on his jacket sleeve impatiently.
> 
> “Look, Nora’s said ‘everyone’s welcome’,” he said, “So…do whatever. Shoot them if they try to rip you off.”

     MacCready adjusted his hat and slid a little deeper into his chair, letting the last of the sun’s rays warm him before it dipped below the horizon.  Keeping watch over Sanctuary was easy, a little on the boring side, but it wasn’t like he could complain about how _easy_ his life was.  Nora was basically paying him to sit on his ass.

     He heard someone approaching from behind and sat up, twisting around a little to see who it was.

     Deacon.

     Wonderful.

     “Hey, MacCready,” Deacon said, clapping him on the shoulder. “How’s it going?  Still killing people for caps?”

     MacCready scowled. “Still pretending to be anyone but yourself?”

     Deacon smirked at him, eyebrows lifted a little over his sunglasses. “How do you know this isn’t who I really am?”

     “God forbid.”

     Deacon’s smirk widened and he opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a familiar Irish accent.

     “You sound like a pair of fuckin’ kids,” Cait said as she passed, “Ain’t got nuthin’ better to do than bicker?”

     “I was doing my _job_ ,” MacCready snapped, “Which, by the way, only involves killing something if it tries to kill us first.”

     “You know, I’m starting to wonder about this decision to hook up with Nora,” Deacon replied, staring into the sunset wistfully. “Before I met her, I could go entire _days_ without slaughtering something.”

     “Well, no one’s chained you up here at Sanctuary,” MacCready pointed out, his irritation growing.

     “Oh, but she’s got inside information on public enemy number one,” Deacon rebutted, “And she wasn’t nice enough to share with her partner before running off again.”

     “Since when are you her _partner_?”

     “Since we took down Switchboard together,” Deacon declared, as if it was obvious. “Why, jealous?”

     MacCready sent him a withering look but didn’t reply.  He returned his attention to scanning the perimeter of Sanctuary, but it was blissfully quiet.  Deacon stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets, humming to himself as the sun set and the shadows lengthened.

     Finally, MacCready couldn’t take it anymore. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

     “Me?  Nope.”

     “Alright,” MacCready said, standing. “Your watch, then.”

     He grabbed his rifle and slung it over one shoulder, then began the march back up to the house where he and Duncan had been staying.  As he passed the common house, Sturges flagged him down with a wave.

     “You haven’t heard anything from any of the radios, have you?  Nothing from Nora or Preston?”

     MacCready shook his head. “Just been sitting at the guard tower.  Why?”

     “I was going to forward a message to her Pip-Boy,” Sturges explained, “But it’s not working.  She almost never turns it off, so…”

     “Do you think something happened to them?”

     Sturges shrugged. “They went to the coast, so maybe it just got wet.  It’s happened before.  Just, uh, turn on the radio at your place if you don’t mind.”

     MacCready nodded and shrugged off the worry he heard in Sturges’s voice as a figment of his imagination.  He turned to continue on his way when the alert bell began clanging and Duncan came running up, pink-cheeked and breathless.

     “Daddy!  Daddy, I saw a mirelurk behind the house!”

     He barely had time to groan in aggravation when Codsworth floated up. “Ah, Mr. MacCready, there are people at the bridge…”

     “Why are you coming to me?”

     “Well, ah, Miss Nora did leave you in charge…”

     _Fuck._   Guess the days of working off his retainer in relative peace were over.  He sighed and rubbed his eyes to clear them.

     “Who is it?”

     “I believe it is a detachment from the Brotherhood.”

     Even better.

     “Do you know what they want?”

     “I think something about trading,” Codsworth said, “I attempted to speak with them on behalf of Miss Nora and yourself, but they seemed reluctant to ‘interface’ with a machine.”

     He made a sniffing noise, as if his pride had been wounded, and MacCready marveled briefly at the Mr. Handy’s programming before some of the settlers waved him over.  He joined them reluctantly, wondering how he’d been naïve enough to think that watching over Sanctuary would be uneventful.  As the Minutemen’s busiest settlement, something was always happening…and Nora had apparently left him in charge.

     “Well?”

     “They want to trade,” one of the settlers, a scruffy older man, said, “Medical supplies for food.”

     MacCready stared for a moment. “And you need my permission?”

     The settlers blinked like lost children.  MacCready rubbed at his eyes again as Duncan tugged on his jacket sleeve impatiently.

     “Look, Nora’s said ‘everyone’s welcome’,” he said, “So…do whatever.  Shoot them if they try to rip you off.”

     He turned and left, letting Duncan lead him towards where he had seen the mirelurk. 

     “It was a big one!” the little boy told him, “It came out of that big hole over there.  I was playing in the water and I heard it clicking!”

     “Duncan, you shouldn’t be in the water, remember?  Radiation,” MacCready scolded, “And you don’t know how to swim.”

     “But Aunt Nora said she’d teach me!” Duncan protested, “Before she left.  She said it would get cold but I don’t think it’s cold.  Besides, I was only at the edge.”

     MacCready started to rebut when they rounded the corner of the house and he saw the mirelurk.  It had already been dispatched; crouching next to the large body was a woman in a Brotherhood uniform.  She was leaning back on her heels, a clipboard balanced on her knees, scribbling intently.

     “You got it!” Duncan shouted, running down the creek bank and splashing into the water.  The woman looked up from her clipboard and smiled.

     “There’s an infestation in that old sewer pipe,” she said, “Someone should probably go in and get the big ones before they become a real problem.”

     MacCready followed Duncan, slipping on the mud a little, as the woman waved at him.  Without her cap, he almost hadn’t recognized her – it was Haylen, the young scribe in Cambridge who had treated his screwed-up ankle all those weeks ago when he was on the road with Nora. 

     “What are you doing out here?”

     “Eggs,” Haylen replied, gesturing to a large basket on the bank nearby. “One of the other scribes is studying the local wildlife’s radiation resistance.  I thought eggs would be easier than trapping and hauling in a full-grown ‘lurk.”

     “You wanted to put them in a cage?” Duncan blurted, eyes wide. “But they like the water!”

     “Duncan, they’re mirelurks,” MacCready said, “Not kittens.”

     “But, Daddy…”

     “It would only be for a little while,” Haylen responded, her smile widening. “And there’d be water in the cage for them.”

     “What do you need them for?”

     MacCready tried not to sigh, wondering for a moment why he was standing in cold, muddy water while his five-year-old gave a virtual stranger the third degree over the ethics of experimenting on animals.

     “Well, my friend takes samples of their blood,” Haylen explained, “She wants to know how they don’t get sick or die from all the radiation, so she can make up a medicine for humans.”

     “But we already have medicines for that,” Duncan replied, crossing his arms.  Haylen didn’t seem fazed.

     “We do, but she wants to make an even better one,” Haylen said, “It doesn’t hurt them, I promise.”

     “Duncan, why don’t you go back inside and get cleaned off?”

     “But, Daddy --!”

     “Duncan, please,” MacCready said, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

     The little boy sagged and pouted, dragging his feet through the mud as he left.

     “I really didn’t mind,” Haylen said, packing away her clipboard and taking several test tube bottles out of her bag. “We have squires up on the Prydwen asking lots of questions, too.”

     “There are children in the Brotherhood?”

     Haylen made a small noise of distaste and nodded. “I don’t like it, either, but it’s not really my place to say anything,” she said, “Scribe is just one step above Initiate on our totem pole.”

     MacCready felt like he should say something, but didn’t know what.  Haylen bent again, filling her test tubes with water before stoppering them with chunks of cork.  She did the same with the silty mud and then looked up at him with a smile.  MacCready realized he had been staring.

     “Do you know if hubflowers grow around here?”

     “Um, I think there’s a patch somewhere up on the hills over there,” MacCready said, looking away as the back of his neck began to burn. “Making Psycho?”

     “Hardly,” Haylen replied, brushing a lock of pale hair away from her face. “If you steep the leaves in hot water it’s almost like tea.  Stimulating but not addictive or dangerous, really.”

     “I’ll have to tell Nora that,” MacCready said absently.

     Haylen nodded and turned at the sound of heavy footsteps clomping through the undergrowth.  A grumpy Knight in Power Armor appeared, shoving aside branches and dying greenery with his laser rifle.

     “Did you find what you were looking for?” he demanded when he saw Haylen, throwing a dark look at MacCready.

     “Almost finished,” Haylen replied breezily, “Ten more minutes.”

     “Don’t get lost, Doc.”

     “Carry this back to the bird for me, will you?”

     She hoisted up the basket of mirelurk eggs and handed it off gingerly to the Knight, who took one look at them and shook his head.

     “Neriah owes us for this zoo we’re building here.”

     MacCready stood there awkwardly for a moment, then turned to leave.  Haylen touched his arm before he did and smiled at him.

     “Thanks for pointing out the hubflowers.”

     MacCready shrugged. “Consider it compensation for fixing me up at Cambridge.”

 

     Half an hour later, the settlement was quiet once again.  The Brotherhood detachment departed with crates of food and Curie was helping the settlers sort the medical supplies they had traded, while MacCready found a quiet spot near the common house to enjoy a last cigarette before heading back inside to check on Duncan.  He’d flipped on Radio Freedom as Sturges had requested, the sound turned down to a lull in the background. 

     “Hey, MacCready.”

     MacCready looked up and flicked his ash.  It was Sturges.

     “What’s up?”

     “You haven’t seen anybody in the workshop, have you?”

     “Just you,” he answered and took another drag, relishing the nicotine filling his lungs. “I think Codsworth went in looking for something yesterday.  Why?”

     Sturges shook his head. “The holotape that Nora brought me from the Institute,” he said, “I keep it in a specific drawer but it’s missing.”


	51. Bad News

     Nora had met some of the scientists that worked in Robotics and watched a gen-1 being repaired, but she had never actually gone inside the department where gen-3s were made.  She wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t what she saw.

     Shaun led her into a large, open chamber and handed her what looked like a pre-war surgical mask.

     “The process produces some unpleasant fumes at times,” he explained.  Nora nodded and fitted it on, staring around the room in wonder.  A massive robotic arm was affixed to the ceiling, directly over a small pool of some sort.  Around the edges of the chamber were chambers of metal and glass, some with closed drawers and others filled with carefully-arranged medical instruments.

     “Mr. Binet, can you start the process, please?”

     Alan Binet, a small blond man Nora had met in passing, nodded and gave Shaun a thumbs-up from across the chamber.  He hit a large green button on the wall and, with a quiet hum and reverberations that echoed through the air, the robotic arm began to move.

     “The synthetic organics that we used to create synths are grown in a lab,” Shaun explained, “The process has been perfected into a perfect blend of human tissue and synthetics of our own design.  Each separate piece is kept preserved in cryostasis – like yourself and the other residents of Vault 111 – until the process is ready to complete.”

     The robotic arm reached for one of the metal chambers, opening drawers at lightning speed and pulling out objects that it placed in careful position on a circular frame.  Nora watched and tried not to gasp as she realized what it was doing.  It was pulling _bones_ out of the drawers and arranging them into a full-size skeleton.

     Shaun beckoned Nora forward to the skeleton once the robotic arm was done.  She stared, flabbergasted, and then reached out to touch it.  The bone was white and unmarred, the tiniest bit gritty on the surface.  She pulled her hand back and tried to suppress a shudder.  In all the months she’d spent out in the Commonwealth, she’d become familiar with the feel of bones old and new; this synth skeleton felt no different.

     “Lifelike, isn’t it?”

     Nora looked over at her son, who seemed so proud, and tried hard not to gag.  He pulled her back away from the skeleton as the giant arm began to move again, adding organs to the skeleton and spinning tissue onto the frame to hold it all into place like a spider spinning a web.  The whole process made her ill.  After fifteen minutes of sorting and spinning, a fully-fledged gen-3 synth sat nestled into the circular frame – a man, pale-skinned and bald, eyes closed.

     “The final step,” Shaun said, gesturing to the pool in the center of the room. “Life-giving fluids.  Their composition is modeled after human blood.”

     Nora pulled at the mask on her face, wanting to say something, when the circular frame moved, spinning and then submerging the synth in the pool.  She sniffed and swallowed hard.  Maybe it was psychosomatic, maybe she was finally going insane…but the chamber smelled just like the operating room where Shaun had been born.  Blood, disinfectant, and the curious odor of amniotic fluid.  She remembered it well – the smell of that wet, pink-tinged stain spreading on her skirt as Nate drove to the hospital in a rush, the sterile rubber gloves, the muskiness of dark blood on her thighs as the nurses hurriedly pushed her into the surgical suite.

     She pulled the mask back over her nose and mouth as her stomach flopped a few times.  Slowly, like he was waking up from a deep dream, the synth rose from the pool and stood, rivulets of “life-giving fluids” flowing over his skin.  He had hair now – dark brown, wet and disheveled, the same color as Nate’s.  Nora turned and hurried out of the chamber, the door to the Robotics department sliding shut behind her.  The corridor outside was dim and deserted; she tore off the face mask and leaned her forehead against the cool metal wall, taking deep breaths to steady her churning stomach.

     Everyone made it sound like something from a RobCo factory – synths created on an assembly line, one after the other, turned out like toasters and possessing little more than a toaster’s self-awareness.  What she had seen was totally different.  It was birth perverted, the process sped up and reduced to piece-by-piece assembly like some super-sophisticated Frankenstein experiment.  This was what Nate – her beloved Nate, who studied medicine and just wanted to help soldiers like himself – had died for.  Had been _murdered_ for.  So that his and her DNA could be spliced and replicated and regrown into virtual slavery underground.

     “Mother?”

     Nora took a deep, steadying breath, and looked over at her son. “I wish you hadn’t show me that.”

 

     Preston tried not to wrinkle his nose as he and Dogmeat pushed through the gates of Goodneighbor, instead giving the Neighborhood Watch what he hoped was a friendly smile.  The air was heavy, damp, and tinged with a vaguely chemical stench.  Dogmeat wagged his tail, nose pressed to the ground as he tracked something in circles around the cracked pavement.  Preston hesitated near the gate for a moment, unsure what to do or where to go, when the shepherd lifted his nose, barked, and took off down a darkening alley.

     “Dogmeat!” Preston yelled, then jogged after him half-heartedly.  He watched the dog’s fluffy tail vanish around a corner and followed it into what looked like a repurposed metro station, stifling a cough as the odor of chems intensified.  A tall Ghoul in a tuxedo stood inside the door and squinted suspiciously at him. 

     “Newcomer?”

     Preston straightened and tried not to look uncomfortable. “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen,” he said, holding out a hand.  The Ghoul looked at it and then back up at him, and gave a noncommittal grunt in response.

     “Go on in if you want.”

     Preston let his hand drop awkwardly and scooted past, descending into the metro station toward the sound of jazz and drunken laughter.  He hesitated for a moment on the last step, glancing around for Dogmeat before wandering into the crowd.  He had never been one for crowds, parties, or the like; while he enjoyed a stiff drink as much as the next person, being part of a crowd was always an uncomfortable experience.  Attending his own wedding had been the height of mass social interaction for him, and even then he’d snuck off as early as he thought he could get away with.  With Nora, his loner propensities had never been a problem; she was such a big personality that she commanded respect from everyone and took charge wherever she went, but could navigate a quiet conversation counting ammunition just as easily. 

     “Hey, Garvey!”

     Preston swallowed thickly as Hancock waved from across the room and all eyes turned on him briefly.  Forcing himself not to stare at his feet – a habit that had resulted in plenty of mishaps as a kid – he hurried over to dark corner where Hancock was lounged on a faded, patched red sofa.  Dogmeat was planted at his feet and an armored redhead stood leaning against the wall nearby, watching him intently.  He ignored her and tried to think of a way to explain what the hell had happened to Nora.

     “Did my favorite Vaultie really turn in without at least saying hello?”

     Preston sighed. “She’s not with me, Hancock.”

     Hancock stared at him for a moment. “Then where the hell is she?”

     Preston took a deep breath and glanced at the redhead nearby, who had stopped staring at him finally.  He dropped into a chair and let out the breath, swiping at his face in exhaustion.

     “We cleared Libertalia just fine,” he said, “The Courser wanted her to recall the synth so they could take it back but she shot him instead.  Her Courser friend then teleported them both inside without so much as a word of warning.  Her Pip-Boy was damaged – it’s in my bag here – so she doesn’t have her own way in and out anymore.”

     Awkward silence fell between them.  After a moment, Hancock fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out for himself, and offered another to Preston.  He took it gratefully, lighting up and inhaling deeply. 

     “When was this?”

     Preston blew out his smoke and sank into the chair, bone-deep exhaustion making his limbs heavy. “Yesterday night,” he said, “I came straight here.”

     “And made fucking good time,” Hancock said, noticeably impressed. “So, just a day.”

     Preston nodded and took another puff. “Yeah.  Have you got a two-way radio?”

     “I know a guy,” Hancock replied, “We can give those fucks another twenty-four hours to bring her back, I say.  Two days, like last time.”

     “And then what?”

     “I ain’t got a fucking clue,” Hancock answered, flicking his ash. “Yet.  But between us we can figure something out, don’t you think?”

     Preston sighed and stubbed the last bit of his cigarette into an old ashtray. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks these folks underground are bad news.”

     Hancock nodded quietly. “Been thinking that since the beginning, my friend.”


	52. The Past Remains

     Nora shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other.  The chair squeaked loudly and Ayo threw her a dark look; she ignored it and tried to return her attention back to the rest of the Directorate.  Why Shaun had insisted she attend this meeting was a mystery, but in the interests of good will and diplomacy, she had agreed with a smile.

     “Alright, good,” Shaun said, and Nora glanced down at the bare table in front of her, trying not to fidget. “Where are we on Phase 3, Allie?”

     “Should we be discussing this in…present company?”

     It took a great measure of self-control for Nora not to reach across the table and wrap her fingers around Ayo’s throat, but to his credit, Shaun fixed him with a dark, displeased stare.

     “We’ll get to that in a moment,” he replied firmly, “Allie?”

     “The reactor is almost complete,” she said, “We only need to make a few adjustments and install the beryllium agitator --”

     “Reactor?” Nora blurted, eyes wide. “ _Nuclear_ reactor?”

     “Do you know of any other kind?” Ayo replied acidly.  Nora took a deep breath and drew on the last reserves of her patience to ignore him.

     “You can’t be seriously building a nuclear reactor,” she said, returning her attention to Allie Filmore and Shaun. “That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

     “We’re more than capable of handling a reactor with care,” Allie answered, “We’ve taken every safety precaution imaginable.  It’s the only answer to our ongoing power needs.”

     Nora opened her mouth to reply, but Shaun interrupted her. “That’s why I asked you to join us here, Mother,” he said, “To understand the needs and goals of the Institute.  I want to name you my successor.”

     A collective gasp rippled through the conference room and Nora stared at her son, stunned.

     “You what?”

     “You can’t be serious,” Ayo almost shrieked, “She – she’s not even a scientist!”

     “I’ll ignore your borderline insubordinate tone for _now,_ ” Shaun answered, “My mind is made up.  The Institute doesn’t need more scientists.  What it needs is a leader, a guide.  Someone with a unique perspective.  My mother fits the bill.”

     Nora blinked and shook her head.  Shaun wanted her to lead the Institute, the boogeyman of the Commonwealth, the most technologically-advanced organization she had ever seen.  He wanted her to lead an entire civilization of people. 

     Suddenly, all of her hopes for diplomacy and good will seemed within her grasp.  Maybe, just maybe…

     “With that settled,” Shaun continued as the discussion of her new appointment began to wind down, “I would like to share some news with you.”

     Nora looked up at her son, smiling for the first time since they had met, and froze when she saw the look on his face.  Fear seized her heart like a vice.  She had seen that look before and it wasn’t good.

     “I’m afraid…” Shaun looked at his lap and sighed. “I’m afraid I am dying.”

     A second round of incredulous gasps and protests went through the Directorate.  Nora gripped the arms of her chair and swallowed past a painful lump in her throat.

     “What do you mean, Shaun?”

     “I have a rather aggressive form of cancer,” he continued, “It isn’t responding to treatment.  I thought it prudent to let everyone know before I was no longer able to continue my duties as Director.”

     Nora felt herself sag.  Cancer. 

     She put a hand over her eyes and leaned against the table, trying to steady her shaking.  There were a few more minutes of muted discussion between the members of the Directorate and then she heard the scrape of chairs as they began to leave.  No one said a word and the door to the conference room slid closed.  Silence hung heavy in the arm for a moment.

     “Mother?”

     Nora took a deep, hitching breath, and lowered her hand to look at her son. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

     “I didn’t think it was the right time,” Shaun replied, “I apologize if my announcement was a little sudden.”

     “I’m your mother,” she said, “You couldn’t have told me in private, at least?”

     Shaun looked away from her but made no effort at apology.  Nora stood and turned to leave, but stopped and looked back at her son.

     “What kind?”

     “Pardon?”

     “What kind of cancer.”

     Shaun hesitated. “Liver,” he said after a moment.  Nora felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in her chest but pushed it down.  How fucking ironic.

     “My mother died of liver cancer,” she said, “Her doctors told me it might be genetic.”

     She turned back and left, making for her room nearby.  She packed up her few things – clothes and boots, a stash of medical supplies Dr. Volkert had given her, a laser pistol – and left, heading for the SRB.  She found Ayo inside, head bent over a Courser chip he seemed to be repairing.  When he saw her, he set his tools down and fixed her with a mocking smile.

     “Well, if it isn’t our new Director,” he said, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

     “Fuck you, Ayo,” Nora spat, earning herself a scandalized glance from a worker nearby. “Send me back to the surface.  Now.”

     “Gladly,” he replied, perking up. “I’ll have X6 take you immediately.”

     Nora glared as he hurried past her to find the Courser, wondering if she could take him to the surface sometime and then conveniently lose him in Boston Common.   When X6 returned, he looked as impassive as ever.

     “Ready when you are, ma’am.”

     “Get me out of here.”

 

     The door to Preston’s room at the Rexford opened almost immediately after she knocked, despite the late hour.  The Minuteman stood in the dim light, shirtless and barefoot, creases along his cheek where it had lain against a pillow.  Nora smirked at him.

     “I’m not sure this is the best way to promote the Minutemen,” she teased, nodding at his lack of attire.  He didn’t respond but enveloped her in a tight hug.  She hugged him back, the warmth of his embrace almost enough to let loose all her anger and sadness.

     “I was certain we’d never see you again.”

     Nora shook her head against Preston’s shoulder and then stepped back. “I would have chiseled my way back to the surface if I had to,” she said with a smile, “No faith in your General?”

     “No faith in underground boogeymen,” he said, “Is everything alright?  When did you get back?”

     “Everything’s fine,” she said, giving her most convincing smile. “I had X6 drop me downtown about two hours ago.”

     “Downtown?”

     “I didn’t think it’d be a good idea for a Courser to teleport directly into town,” Nora replied with a shrug, “And I kind of wanted to shoot some stuff after…”

     She bit back her frustration but Preston stared at her expectantly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

     “I am,” Nora answered, “I promise.”

     Preston didn’t seem convinced, but let the matter drop.  Nora smiled again and elbowed him playfully.

     “Get dressed,” she said, “I’m starving and I’ve got news for you and John.”

     “Same here,” Preston replied, grabbing his shirt off the floor nearby. “Got in touch with Sanctuary and the Castle yesterday.”

     “John told me,” Nora said, “He didn’t – um – have time to give me details.”

     Preston raised his eyebrows at her.

     “Oh, shut up,” she answered, repressing a smug smile. “As if you aren’t going to do the same with Lucy when we get back.  Carpe diem.”

     “Carpe what?”

     “Seize the day,” Nora replied, “Anyway.  What’s going on at Sanctuary?”

     “Brotherhood.”

     Nora sighed. “What now?”

    “Well, according to Sturges and MacCready, a detachment came by to do some trading,” Preston explained, lacing up his boots and grabbing his bag. “Everything went just fine but a few hours after they left, that holotape you gave Sturges – the one that copied a bunch of information off their network – went missing.” 

     Nora felt her heart sink. “Shit.”

     “Yeah,” Preston said, “Sturges already copied everything onto a couple back-ups, and there’s no _proof_ that they did anything, but…”

     “It’s suspicious,” Nora agreed, shaking her head. “I swear, they are really becoming a pain in ass --”

     She rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and collided headlong with a man in a long trench coat, knocking her back into Preston.

     “Shit, I’m sorry…”

     The man straightened and looked at her, his dark ghoul eyes widening in shock.

     “Mrs…Mrs. Wilson?”

     Nora froze.  No one had called her Mrs. Wilson since before the Vault.

     “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

     “It’s really you, isn’t it?” The Ghoul continued, voice rasping in incredulity. “From Sanctuary Hills, right?  You went into the Vault!”

     Nora thought for a second and felt her head begin to spin.  It was that sales rep, the middle-aged man with the clipboard who had sold her three spaces in Vault 111.

     “You’re the salesman,” she said, still in shock. “From Vault-Tec.”

     “Two hundred years,” The rep answered, looking her up and down. “You’re still perfect.  How is that possible?”

     “Cryostasis,” Nora said, “You didn’t know?”

    

     Nora shifted in bed, pulling away from John’s sleeping form and staring into the deep darkness of the bedroom. 

     _They just left me there_.

     Like always, she couldn’t push aside her memories.  They persisted, year after year, sharpened by guilt.  She’d taken a hit of Med-X earlier but it hadn’t done much to help her sleep; she couldn’t stop going back over each incident one by one, like a film reel of her worst moments of looping over and over.  Seeing the Vault-Tec rep, a real person from her past, had been a slap in the face from everything she’d buried a long time ago.

     She shifted again and slid out of bed as quietly as possible, padding over to the window to stare down into Goodneighbor.  It was a few hours more until dawn, just long enough past midnight that the town had begun to quiet down.  She could see the gaudy marquee of the Memory Den blinking on the corner and a pair of men standing under it.  One man turned slightly and she caught a glimpse of his sunglasses – Deacon, probably with a synth who wanted his memories wiped.

     Thinking fast, Nora went to her bag and pulled out one of her books, then tore out an end page.  She scribbled a quick note on it and folded the page in half, tucking it under the pack of cigarettes John had left on a nearby table.  She grabbed the brand new pistol she’d purchased from Daisy and the silencer that came with it, a box of ammo, and her med-kit, then slipped out the door.  She left out the back door of the State House, avoiding Fahrenheit and the Neighborhood Watch, and sprinted into the Memory Den.

     Deacon had parked himself inside, already in a different set of clothes, and grinned when he saw her.

     “Boss,” he said, “Back again.”

     “I got a few jobs that need doing,” Nora said, “You in?”

     “Sure,” Deacon replied, “What are we up to?”

     “Putting down assholes.  And a little bit of roleplay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at me actually posting during daylight hours instead of at 2am. Enjoy. Comments make my day.


	53. The Silver Shroud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “About time someone put you down,” Nora said, pressing the muzzle of her gun against Kendra’s forehead. Kendra laughed.
> 
> “You’re a fucking psycho,” she said, “Running around and playing dress-up? Come on.”
> 
> Nora smiled indulgently at her and squeezed the trigger. 
> 
> “I’m not a psycho,” Nora said to the body, “I’m on Psycho.”

     “You know, Boss, I’m all for costumes and disguises,” Deacon said, pushing aside a rusted can with his foot. “But, the point is to hide.  This is kind of the opposite of that, don’t you think?”

     “The point is to remind people not to fuck around with each other,” Nora replied from behind the dressing screen, “Besides, if you do it right, people will see the persona, not what’s underneath.”

     “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

     Nora smiled to herself and uncapped the lipstick tube she’d found and began applying it, squinting at her reflection in a cracked mirror on the wall.  She had gotten everything she needed in the basement of an old boutique outside Boston Common.  The sun was almost down and Deacon was along for the ride – even if he had voiced some concerns.  Almost time to get moving.

     “I used to perform a lot,” she said, stepping outside the dressing screen. “I was good at it.”

     “Did you have a loaded gun during these past performances?”

     “No,” Nora replied with a smile, “But I did once perform on a broken ankle.”

     “Well, you’re going to get another one, waltzing around the city in those,” Deacon said, nodding at her silver heels.

     “Ah, you underestimate my abilities,” Nora said, dropping her voice a little.  She’d popped a handful of Mentats before getting dressed and could feel them working their way through her system – a slight uptick in her heartbeat, a giddiness that made her feel alert, charming, and confident.  They didn’t feel the same as most Mentats, but she wasn’t complaining.

     “Well, I have to commend your chutzpah, Boss,” Deacon said, glancing down and clearing his throat.  Nora had her foot propped on a turned-over chair, dress hiked over one thigh as she affixed a holster in place above her knee.  She side-eyed him and grinned wickedly.

     “The costume from Hubris Comics was too masculine,” she said, “And too big.  Like my version?”  


     “You know, MacCready mentioned once how, uh, silly you can get when you’re high,” Deacon said, stepping back from her. “Something about Power Armor and robots.  I kind of thought that he was just telling tales, but…”

     Nora placed the Silver Shroud fedora on her head and straightened it, tilting it a bit and looking up at Deacon through her eyelashes.

     “I’m not high,” she answered evenly, “I’m happy to be doing what I’m good at.”

     “Shooting people while dressed as a sexualized pre-war superhero?”

     “Dispensing justice,” Nora corrected, “I haven’t in far too long.  Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

 

     Four bodies in two nights.  Hancock had to admire the numbers, at least, even if she was leaving behind one hell of a fucking mess.  He toed one of the bodies, riddled with bullet holes, and shook his head.  Dogmeat sniffed it and curled his lip before stepping back.

     “I blame you,” Hancock told him, “Out chasing tail instead of keeping an eye on her.”

     Dogmeat whined and looked down at the ground as if ashamed.  Hancock sighed and patted his head in consolation.

     “I know, I know,” he said, “She does what the fuck she wants.”

     “Please don’t tell me you’re talking to the dog, John.”

     Fahrenheit rounded the corner with two members of the Watch and fixed him with a disdainful sneer, eyebrow cocked.  Hancock ignored her.

     “She’s got a flair for the dramatic,” Fahrenheit continued, eyes traveling along the alley walls, which were painted in blood sprays and bullet holes.  Each body left in the midst of the carnage had been carefully adorned with a Silver Shroud calling card, as much a message to him as it was to any other fuckers causing trouble in Goodneighbor.

     It hadn’t taken much to get the information he wanted from Kent once Wayne Delancy’s body had hit the ground, though he could probably have guessed just from the rumors flying around town.  Silver dress and heels, silenced 10mm, long black coat and hat, excellent aim, threw around words like “justice” a lot… _of course_ it was Nora.  At least she had left him a note before wandering off this time.

     “You remember who Wayne and AJ belonged to, right?” Fahrenheit asked, nodding at two of the Neighborhood Watch to drag away the bodies.

     “I remember.”

     “If she isn’t careful, this is going to go south pretty damn quick.”

     “That it will,” Hancock replied, “But at least this asshole ain’t peddling his shit to kids anymore.”

 

     Nora jammed the needle into her stomach as an ancient vase exploded above her head, tossing aside the syringe and inhaling deeply.  She could hear her friends’ voices in her head – _maybe you should slow down, you’re being a hypocrite, that’s going to kill you quick –_ but they disappeared as the Psycho flooded her senses and clouded out any emotion but pure adrenaline.

     “Come on out here and finish what you started, you bitch!”

     Nora scowled and pushed herself up out of cover, firing six shots into the air around Kendra.  The assassin raised her weapon but Nora fired a seventh time, the bullet slamming into Kendra’s thigh.  She screamed and fell against the wall, gripping her gun in white knuckles.  She reached for a Stimpak on her belt; Nora aimed and shot for the reaching hand.  Blood went flying and Kendra screamed, dropping her gun onto the floor with a clatter.

     “About time someone put you down,” Nora said, pressing the muzzle of her gun against Kendra’s forehead.  Kendra laughed.

     “You’re a fucking psycho,” she said, “Running around and playing dress-up?  Come on.”

     Nora smiled indulgently at her and squeezed the trigger.  The shot rang around the enclosed space and blood and brain matter went flying, splattering against the wall behind Kendra’s body in a grotesque display.

     “I’m not a psycho,” Nora said to the body, “I’m _on_ Psycho.”

     Behind her, Deacon tsked. “Missed the mark on that one, Boss.”

     Nora rolled her eyes and used an old dishrag from her pocket to wipe blood off the collar of her coat.

     “Well, they can’t all be zingers,” she replied, “Let’s get going.”

     “What, now?” Deacon asked, “Don’t you need a second to breathe?”

     Nora glared at him. “Do criminals take a minute to breathe?”

     “I thought Kendra was the last one!”

     “The last one on Kent’s list,” Nora replied, fishing out a calling card to drop on Kendra’s body. “But there’s a Raider gang camped under the skybridge and Gunners in Postal Square.  You in or not?”

     Deacon squinted at her. “Are you mixing Mentats and Psycho?”

     Nora didn’t answer. “Are you in or not?” she repeated.

     “I’m in,” Deacon replied with a shrug, “So long as you don’t get me killed.”

 

     “Boss, you alright?”

     Nora didn’t answer, gripping the fire escape and leaning against the wall.  She’d already thrown up twice but her stomach was still doing cartwheels.  She could smell the coppery tang of blood and the musk of gunpowder, and even though the air was chilly, she was boiling hot.

     “Boss?”

     “I’m fine,” she snapped, wiping sweat off the back of her neck. “Let’s go.”

     “Look, Nora, we’ve made a lot of awesome progress on your kill list,” Deacon said, “But you’ve barely slept or eaten in four days.  Time to take a rest.  And maybe some Addictol.”

     “I’m _fine_ ,” Nora repeated through gritted teeth as her stomach did a particularly boisterous flop.  Coming down off Med-X hadn’t been nearly this bad – a little moodiness and insomnia, but that had been assuaged pretty easily by Hancock’s presence.

     _Maybe you shouldn’t have left him behind, then._

     “Come on, Nora,” Deacon said, “Let’s go back to Goodneighbor.  You can rest and clean up and eat something.”

     He moved to put a hand on her shoulder but Nora recoiled from him and gripped her gun tighter.

     “Don’t touch me,” she snarled, “I’m not going back to Goodneighbor until I’m fucking ready.”

     “Alright,” Deacon replied, stepping back with his hands raised. “I’m human, though, so I’m going to head back.”

     Nora huffed and looked away from him, letting her hold on her gun relax a bit.  Deacon hesitated for just a moment and then hurried down the fire escape, jamming the button on his Stealth Boy and then turning straight for Goodneighbor.


	54. Seeing Things

     Nora gulped in the cold air and steadied herself.  She fished around in her coat pockets and brought out a syringe and a box of Mentats; without bothering to look at the label on the syringe, she pressed it into her shoulder and threw it aside, then dumped the last of the Mentats into her palm and tossed them back.  The chalky pills stuck in her dry throat and she swallowed hard, grimacing against the bitter taste.  It didn’t take long for both drugs to start working, calming her rolling stomach and clearing the cobwebs from her brain.  She straightened and sniffed the air.  The odor of bodies and hot bullets was ripe; she needed to get some fresh air.

     She scrambled up the fire escape to the roof, the rusted stairs creaking under her weight.  A cold breeze ghosted across the roof, ruffling her coattails as her breath ghosted in white puffs in front of her face.  The chems she’d taken made her brain buzz and her heart flutter against her ribs.  She sucked down fresh air and checked her gun – two bullets left.

     “Damn.”  She pressed the clip back in and re-holstered the pistol, pacing along the roof.  Her footsteps echoed in the silence of the ruined city, carried along the alleyways and abandoned buildings on the frigid wind.  She paced for a while before a voice interrupted her.

     "I can always hear you coming.  Those heels clicking."

     Nora stopped and turned.  Nate stood leaning against the railing, arms crossed as he smirked at her.  The moonlight seemed to silhouette him with a silvery glow.  Nora rubbed her temple as her head began to ache.

     “So I’m seeing things now.  Fantastic.”

     “That’s what you get when you do as many drugs as you have lately,” Nate replied, eyebrow raised at her. “Unhealthy coping mechanisms, huh, sweetheart?”

     Nora bristled. “You’re one to talk,” she snapped, “In case you hadn’t noticed, the world ended.  You were murdered, our son was kidnapped, I’ve been shot at by psychopaths and mauled by a monster.  I haven’t had a proper shower in ages and I ate fungus for dinner.  I think I’m entitled to a few vices now and then.”

     “So you can keep running?”

     “I’m not running from anything,” Nora said, “I’m actually tackling problems head-on now.”

     “Sunshine, you’re running.  I would know.”

     Nora turned and scowled at Hancock. “Don’t presume to lecture me, John.  You’re just pissed I benched you for this excursion.”

     Hancock smirked at her and blew smoke into the air. “Always so mouthy.”

     “You have no idea,” Nate muttered.  Nora clenched and unclenched her fists, paced a few steps, and then stopped.  Her head and heart were both pounding and there was a painful buzzing in her ears.

     “So what if I’m running,” she said after a few moments, “It’s what people do when they’re scared.  I ran and left behind, what, six billion people?  Seven?  Ran while they died slow or turned Ghoul.  I can’t talk to my son so I run from him.  I can’t live with how many Minutemen calls I’ve ignored and how many people I’ve taken advantage of, so, yeah, I’m running.  Fast.  Tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing.”

     “Where are you running, Nora?”

     “To wherever gets me out of my own head,” she replied, “Whatever makes the guilt go away for five more minutes.  I’m going to need more ammo soon.”

     “You can kill every Raider from here to the West Coast and it won’t make it go away.  There will always be someone you miss, someone you can’t save.  You’ll always be scared.”

     “One day you’ll die, then who is going to continue this crusade you’re on?”

     “You gotta stop and do what you have to in the here and now.”

     Nora shook her head to dispel the voices.  She sucked in a heavy breath and pulled her coat tighter around herself, feeling the cold for the first time.  Her fingers were stiff and she couldn’t stop the shiver that crawled down her spine.

     “I can’t do it,” she said, “I can’t.  I don’t want to.”

     “Stop and look around.  Don’t hide.  Don’t run.”

     She put her frozen hands to her ears and hunched in on herself, knees bent as she rocked back on her heels like a scared child. 

     “No.  No.  No.”

 

     Hancock shoved Deacon against the wall, forearm pressed against his throat, gritting his teeth.

     “So you’re telling me you just _left_ her there?”

     Deacon gasped and lifted both hands in supplication. “She pulled her gun on me.”

     “I’m about to pull a gun on you!”

     “I’m serious,” Deacon replied, “She’s mixing chems.  Gone off the nut.  I came back to get your help.  Where – where’s her dog?”

     Hancock stepped back and released the spy, palming the hilt of his combat knife. “You had better start talking because if she’s got so much as _splinter_ I’m taking it out of your hide.”

     “Damn, splinters do hurt, don’t they?” Deacon quipped, his face reddening as blood rushed back to his brain.  Hancock growled and slid the knife out of his belt, forcing Deacon back a step as he raised his hands again.

     “Joking,” he said and coughed once, “Seriously.  You’re both so damn violent.”

     “Where did you leave her?”

     “Not far,” Deacon replied, “It’s only been like an hour so she can’t have moved far if she went anywhere.”

     “Then get moving,” Hancock snapped and whistled once for Dogmeat.  The shepherd came trotting around the corner, tail lifted and ears twitching.

     “Does he track well?”

     “Fantastically, according to Nora,” Hancock replied, “Never had occasion to witness it myself.”

     “We were just over the river,” Deacon said, “Follow the fresh trail of bodies.”

 

     The evidence of Nora and Deacon’s rampage through the city littered the trash-filled streets, blood pooling in dark puddles as discarded bullet casings glinted in the starlight.  Dogmeat tracked the scent as Deacon led them through the dark to an old apartment building.

     “Up there,” Deacon said, pointing up the fire escape. “There were a few Raiders on the roof that we took out.  She wasn’t in great shape when I left.”

     Hancock bit his tongue and shook his head, taking the rusted stairs two at a time up to the roof of the building.  Near the top, he stopped and crouched out of sight, pulling his shotgun in front of him.  He could hear a voice on the roof.

     “Is she there?” Deacon whispered, coming up behind him.  Hancock raised a hand to shush him and turned towards the voice, listening intently.  It was Nora’s voice, jacked up an octave, but he couldn’t make out the words or who she was talking to.  Dogmeat panted and shifted impatiently in place.  Hancock took a tentative step forward and glanced out of cover over the edge of the roof.

     Nora was there, pressed into a dark corner of the abandoned camp on the roof, curled in on herself with her face covered and mumbling shrilly.  It was what she did when she was upset, as if by making herself as small as possible she could hide from the problem.  Hancock set his shotgun down.

     “Stay here,” he said to Deacon, “Keep watch.”

     “Is she alright?”

     “She’s fine but she gets stabby if you surprise her.”

     He stepped over the lip of the roof and made his way over to her in the dark, kneeling down a foot or two away before he said anything.

     “Nora.”

     “No,” she replied vehemently, “Just shut up.  Leave me alone.”

     “Nora, come on,” Hancock said, “It’s me.  It’s John.”

     She shook her head and inched backward, gripping her own hair in one white-knuckled hand.  Hancock stepped closer and touched her arm.

     “Don’t!”

     Hancock took her wrist firmly and pulled her toward him.  She jerked back and fell, legs sprawled beneath her, and finally looked up at him.  His heart clenched painfully at the sight of her bloodshot gray eyes, rimmed red and wide in her pale face.  She was shivering violently.

     “It’s just me, love.”

     “John?” she breathed, her voice softening.  Her chin quivered for a moment before she sucked in a deep breath and reached for him.  He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

     “I got ya’, Sunshine,” he said, standing and lifting her up. “Let’s get you warmed up.”


	55. Apologies

     Nora woke under a heavy pile of blankets with a throbbing headache.  She groaned and shifted under the mass of fabric, propping herself up on her elbows to look around.  She was in an unfamiliar room, a windowless box that reminded her of her old office before the war.  It was cluttered with battered furniture and random detritus, old books and empty water bottles, the door propped open with a chipped brick.  Her Silver Shroud hat and coat had been draped over the back of a chair nearby.

     “Morning, Sunshine.”

     The door creaked open slightly and a familiar ghoul face smiled at her.  She breathed a sigh of relief and sat up, pushing the blankets off.

     “Where are we?”

     “Ticonderoga,” Hancock replied, joining her and letting the door snap closed. “It was closer than Goodneighbor and these Railroad guys don’t ask a whole lot of questions.”

     Nora straightened and nodded.  The last thing she wanted was for everyone she knew in Goodneighbor to hear about what had happened.  Her reputation as Nora Wilson was at stake alongside the image she’d managed to cultivate as the Silver Shroud.  She swallowed hard and sighed.

     “John.  I’m so sorry --”

     Hancock held a hand up and shook his head. “Don’t sweat it.”

     He parked himself on the chair and handed her a bottle of water and a box of Fancy Lads.  She took the food gratefully and tried to smile at him.  She hadn’t felt so hungover since her early days of college.  She ate in silence, legs crossed underneath her as silence filled the room.  Hancock lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter as she snuck glances at him and toyed anxiously with a strap of her heel.

     “John.”

     “Whatcha need?”

     “I’m sorry.”

     He sighed and stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray in frustration. “Nora, really…”

     “Please, just let me say what I need to,” she interrupted, scooting to the edge of the mattress and grabbing his hand. “I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly.  I should have at least said something face to face, not snuck off like I did.”

     “It’s water under the bridge, love.”

     “I know,” she answered with a smile, “Thank you.  But there’s more to it than that.”

     “What do you mean?”

     Nora sighed and looked down at their intertwined hands. “I wanted to be someone else,” she said after a moment, “After everything that’s happened in the last few weeks…after the Institute and running into that Vault-Tec rep, I didn’t want to be myself anymore.”

     “So why did you leave me behind?” Hancock asked, “You should know that I would understand that feeling better than anyone.”

     Nora nodded. “I should have,” she said, “But part the reason I wanted to be someone else was because of you.”

     There was an uncomfortable pause.

     “What did I do?” Hancock asked, pulling away from her.  Nora shook her head again and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

     “Shit, John, I didn’t mean it that way.”

     “Then how _did_ you mean it?”

     “I meant…I meant how I’ve been treating you,” Nora answered, “I knew when I left that if anything happened to me, you’d burn down the Commonwealth to fix it.  I knew you wouldn’t question me and you wouldn’t punish me for walking off.”

     “Hard to punish that when you’re an adult with free will _and_ you made short work of a few assholes while you were gone.”

     “Yeah, but it doesn’t mean it was fair to you,” Nora said, “I’ve been taking advantage of how good you are to me.  Making you play second fiddle to a hell of a lot of ghosts.  I can’t keep --”

     “Look, Nora, you’re not making me do anything,” Hancock began.

     “Dammit, just let me finish,” Nora replied with a frown, “Please.”

     Hancock looked down and then back up at her. “If you’re trying to end it, please don’t,” he said quietly, “Please.  I don’t need to be number one, I’m just happy to be in the band at all.”

     Nora closed her eyes and let her shoulders sag.  There was a stiff silence and Hancock felt his stomach bottom out.

     “Nora…”

     “You need to shut up and let me finish talking, you stubborn ass,” she interrupted, “For fuck’s sake.  What I was trying to say is that it isn’t fair of me to put you second when you should be first.  I want you to be first.”

     She paused and took his hand again, staring at it for a long time before she continued.  Her voice was small and sad and she didn’t look at him as she spoke.

     “I loved Nate dearly.  He was the most important thing in my life for thirteen, almost fourteen years.  My partner, my husband, the father of my child.  But he’s dead.  He’s been dead for a long time.  I know I can’t stop loving him, but I can let him go.  I need to let him go.”

     “That ain’t true, Sunshine.”

     “Yes, it is,” Nora argued quietly, “I don’t want to let him go but carrying around his ghost is just too much.  Especially when I’ve got you right in front of me.”

     “Well, I ain’t much to look at, love.”

     “John, stop,” she said, cupping his face with her free hand. “I love this face – don’t make that joke about my eyesight, I know you were thinking it.”

     “I was not.”

     “Liar,” Nora accused and then smiled at him.  She squeezed his hand and kissed him, chaste but sweet, before saying anything else.

     “John, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she said, “If I have to remind you of that every day for the rest of our lives, I will.”

     They stared at each other for a moment, gray eyes meeting depthless black ones.  Hancock leaned in to kiss her, but pulled back in surprise when someone sniffled loudly.  Deacon was standing in the doorway.

     “That was beautiful,” he said, voice watery as he swiped at his eyes under the sunglasses. “Just…lovely.  My heart…”

     A smile played at the corners of his mouth.  Nora rolled her eyes and threw the empty box of Fancy Lads at him.  It bounced off his shoulder and he smirked at her.

     “Normally people knock and announce themselves,” she said, “Not eavesdrop like a weirdo.”

     “You two should write a romance novel,” Deacon continued, “Seriously, those lines are ace.  You could go with something really hot like _Ferals and Fantasies_ or maybe --”

     Hancock sucked in a heavy breath and set his jaw. “Was there something you needed?”

     “Just checking in on the Boss.”

     “I’m fine, Deke,” Nora replied with a reassuring smile, “Thanks for indulging me.”

     “Happy to do it.”

     “You know it doesn’t end here, right?” Hancock asked with a furrowed brow.

     “What do you mean?”

     “Well, all those jokers in Goodneighbor belonged to the same asshole,” he replied, “An asshole that’s going to want some good old-fashioned revenge.”

     Nora sighed. “There’s always a catch,” she said, “So who is the asshole and where can I find him?”

     “His name’s Sinjin, but I have no idea where he’s holed up,” Hancock replied, “Though I do know where we can find some accomplices.  Poke at ‘em with a machine gun and the big guy might just show himself.”

     “Sinjin,” Deacon echoed, shaking his head. “Haven’t heard good things.”

     “Is that name supposed to ring a bell?” Nora asked, frowning.

     “He’s taken a couple two-bit raider gangs and turned ‘em scary,” Hancock explained, “Not much at the moment, but it’s only a matter of time, you know?”

     Nora nodded past another twang of guilt in the pit of her stomach.  Raider gangs uniting…she should have known about it.  She _would_ have, if she’d been doing the job she signed up for and leading the Minutemen properly.

     “This started before you were defrosted, love,” Hancock said, as if reading her mind. “There have been larger concerns lately, but I say now is the time to put him down.”

     Nora nodded and stood, smoothing her dress. “Then let’s get ready to move,” she said, “Where’s the first cronie working?”

     “Bunker Hill.”

     “Good,” Nora said, then looked around. “Where the hell is Dogmeat?”

     Hancock gave a short laugh. “Goodneighbor,” he said, “Soon as he got a sniff of you last night he headed back.  Daisy got herself a pretty little guard hound he seems to have taken a shine to.”

     Nora huffed. “That little traitor.”

     “You’ve been replaced, Sunshine.”

     Nora shook her head and shrugged. “You going to come with us, Deacon?”

     “I would but I’ve got some official business to take care of back at HQ,” he said, “Stop and visit us sometime, yeah?”

     “Will do,” Nora replied with a smile, adding it to her mental to-do list.  He gave her a mock salute and disappeared down the hall, leaving her alone with Hancock.  She waited for a moment, chewing her lip, and then touched his shoulder.

     “Are we good?”

     He smiled at her. “We’re good,” he said, “Especially if you keep wearing those thigh-high things.”

     “Sorry to break your heart, but I’m ditching the outfit once we get rid of Sinjin,” she replied, “I’m ready to be Nora again.”

     “Well, as much as I love Nora,” Hancock began, placing his hands on her hips. “I always wanted to fuck a superhero.”

     “As much a charmer as ever, John.”


	56. Intervention

      _Breathe.  Relax.  Don’t hold it too tight._

     Nora exhaled a shaky breath and glanced around the room surreptitiously.  She had been holding her pistol trained on Sinjin long enough that her arm was beginning to ache.  He was just far enough away that she wasn’t certain she could make the shot.  She’d have to take him down with one quick headshot, otherwise Kent was dead for sure.  She recited the many tips Mac had once given her for long-range shooting again, but she couldn’t make herself pull the trigger.

     In hindsight, she should have seen this coming.  A roided-up bully like Sinjin wasn’t going to just come out of hiding and invite her to a fair fight.  She was just lucky he hadn’t flat-out murdered Kent right there in the Memory Den.

     Nora exhaled again and fixed Sinjin with her best glare before turning her gaze to his bodyguards.

     “Here’s what will happen,” she said loudly, “Every person who points a gun at me dies.  Every.  Single.  One.”

     One of the bodyguards took a step back and let her gun dip just slightly.  Nora forced herself not to smile in triumph and remained still with her gun pointed at Sinjin.

     “Any one of you moves and I’m coming for your families,” the bulky ghoul snarled, pressing his gun harder into Kent’s skull.  Kent yelled in pain and stumbled as his bloodied leg gave out.  Sinjin growled and pushed him to his knees.  Nora exhaled and squeezed the trigger of her pistol.

     The shot snapped Sinjin’s head back with a spray of blood and his body crumpled.  Kent fell forward with a surprised shout and two of Sinjin’s bodyguards dropped their weapons with a clatter.  Nora let her gun arm fall and started to run toward Kent when pain rippled through her side.  She dropped her gun and fell on one knee, eyes watering, clutching her midsection.  It felt like someone had knocked her in the ribs with an aluminum bat.

     Behind her, Hancock shouted something and fired his shotgun.  There was a scuffle and a volley of swearing, then the thud of a body hitting the floor. 

     “Nora, where’d it hit?”

     “I’m okay,” she gasped out, “It’s the ballistic weave…”

     Hancock pushed her black coat aside and heaved a sigh of relief.  Before heading south to rescue Kent, they had stopped at Railroad HQ and observed some of Tinker Tom’s new experiments, one of which being the ballistic weave that had just saved Nora from almost certain death.

     “Fucking-A,” Hancock breathed, pulling at the bunched fabric just under Nora’s ribs.  A .38 had embedded itself in the fabric; the mangled bullet fell to the floor, leaving behind a charred indentation in her dress.

     “Oh, that’s gonna leave a mark,” Nora groaned.  She slumped back onto the floor and clutched her ribs.

     “Ya’ sure that was the only one?”

     “Definitely,” she replied, “Go help Kent.  I’m just going to lie here and try not to cry.”

     “There are Stimpaks in your bag.”

     Nora closed her eyes and responded with an affirmative grunt.  The pain was beginning to fade, though she was pretty sure she’d cracked a rib or two again.  She could hear Kent and Hancock talking, voices coming closer before Hancock nudged her calf with his boot.

     “Still alive there, Sunshine?”

     “I think so,” she said, and held out a hand.  He gripped it and pulled her to her feet, cradling his other hand against his chest.

     “What happened?”

     “Broke my hand on that asshole’s jaw,” he replied, nodding at the dead Raider nearby. “No biggie.”

     Nora took a deep breath and winced as pain lanced through her middle.  Weren’t they a merry band, Kent with a bullet in the knee, Hancock and his broken hand, and her with what promised to be a florid presentation of bruising before long.

     “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

     “You really did it,” Kent said as she took his arm over her shoulder, “You really were the Silver Shroud.”

     Nora grunted and gave him a weak smile as the trio hobbled back to the elevator and out of the hospital.

 

     A week after the Silver Shroud took half of Sinjin’s face off, Hancock found himself eyeing her in the dusky light of the general’s quarters at the Castle.  True to her word, she had shed the costume and returned to just being Nora, taking up residence back at the old fort to catch up on Minuteman business.  She was his Nora again, stretched out on the bed on her side, a book in one hand, deep in concentration as he watched her.  She had abandoned her junk sorting a little while ago and curled up with her reading instead, leaving him sitting nearby to finish refilling old shotgun shells with new wadding and lead.

     She shifted and set her book down, stretching and catching his eye for a moment.  He glanced away and she smirked at him.

     She sat up and raised her eyebrows at him suggestively.  “Like what you see?”

     “I’ve liked it since I first saw it, love.”

     “Is that so?”

     He smiled at the memory, her entrance into Goodneighbor late that night almost a year before, blue Vault suit splattered with blood and that 10mm on her hip.  Unfazed by Finn’s promise of extortion and unimpressed by his own performance.  Her hair had been shorter then and she had still been wearing her wedding band.

     “John?”

     Her voice cut into his reverie and he looked up to meet her gaze, eyes soft with concern.

     “What’s wrong?”

     He sighed and set aside the shell he’d been stuffing.  No use in trying to keep anything from her.

     “What was he like?”

     Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Who?”

     “Nate.”

     Silence.  He looked down at his hands – shriveled from radiation, undercut with scars and calluses.  He didn’t have fingernails anymore, just dry pads of scar tissue.  He’d never understand why Nora liked having these ugly things on her, especially when she’d once had a basically perfect specimen of manhood doing the touching, but she did. 

     “Why do you ask?”

     He shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. “Morbid curiosity, I guess.”

     “Right,” she answered, eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your crippling self-doubt, does it?”

     “Ya’ got me,” Hancock replied, trying to smile at her. “I’m curious to know how I measure up.”

     Nora sighed and pushed a lock of hair out of her face. “John, there’s no measuring up to be done,” she said, “It’s not a competition.”

     “Can’t just indulge me a little?”

     She eyed him and shook her head. “He was a very different person than you are.  I loved him for entirely different reasons than I love you.”

     “Like what?”

     Another sigh.  He didn’t say anything as Nora’s gaze burned into him.  After a tense standoff, she spoke.

     “Nate was quiet.  He didn’t talk a lot even when you got to know him.  I was always the one running my mouth and he tended to be my filter.”

     She smiled at him, a warm, genuine gesture. “You’re a very different person than him, John, and I love you for who you are, not how you compare to him.”

     “What’d you love about him?”

     “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

     “Been on my mind for a while.  Like I said, morbid curiosity.”

     Nora looked down at her lap and then back up at him. “I loved his heart,” she said, “He was this big, imposing guy everyone expected to be gruff and menacing, but he wasn’t.  He was calm and kind.”

     Hancock met her eyes for a moment and then looked away.  He’d seen her photos of Nate and no matter how much she said it wasn’t a competition, it was hard to think a fucked-up _ghoul_ could ever reach the bar that handsome, intelligent, all-American soldier had set.

     She looked like she was about to say something but was interrupted by a commotion outside the door.  Dogmeat barked loud and distant amongst the commotion of voices.  Happy for the interruption, Hancock grabbed his shotgun and followed Nora out the door.  She had her own shotgun in hand, boots slipped on with the laces undone, and hurried across the courtyard to where the mass of Minutemen were gathered by the side entrance.

     “What’s going on?”

     “She marched right up to the gate and asked for you,” Ronnie Shaw replied, jerking her head back at the double doors.  A young woman stood in the spotlight, hands raised in a symbol of surrender.  Nora squinted for a moment and then frowned.

     “Scribe Haylen?”

     The woman nodded vigorously.  She looked on the verge of tears.  Nora almost hadn’t recognized her; instead of the Brotherhood uniform and hood, she wore dirty jeans and a patched coat, blond hair pulled back into a thick bun.  She looked tired, pale, and terrified.

     “I need your help,” she said, the words tumbling out between shivers as her breath ghosted in front of her face. “I didn’t know who else to ask.  Amelia told me to come here…”

     “Hold on,” Nora said, “Amelia?  My scout, Amelia?”

     Haylen nodded. “She joined up as an Initiate,” she said, “When I heard what had happened, she told me she was just there gathering intel but that you would help me.”

     “Well, that explains why she’s just been sending messages instead of checking in personally,” Nora said, “So what’s the emergency?  What happened?”

     Haylen tried to take in a deep breath and choked back a sob. “It’s Paladin Danse,” she said, “He’s a synth.  Maxson wants him executed.  Please, you have to help him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story should progress fast and furious from here :-) Looking at 70-ish chapters? Canon divergences, of course, and some more head-canons, so I hope you guys continue to enjoy it as much as before!


	57. Listening Post Bravo

     Nora flipped the switch on the wall, flooding the meeting room with yellow light from a single bulb on a chain suspended from the stone ceiling.  She thought briefly of an interrogation room and pictured Nick skulking in one of the shadowed corners smoking a cigarette, but shook the image away.  She had to focus.

     “Sit down,” she said, using her foot to pull out one of the chairs.  Haylen took it, looking around the room nervously.  Since they were still digging mud and rock out of some of the Castle’s halls, the chamber served as a meeting spot and an armory, housing a large round table and rusty shelves of ammunition boxes.  Nora sat down across from Haylen and cleared her throat.

     “I thought the round table was a great touch, but I can’t get anyone to call me King Arthur yet.”

     Haylen blinked in confusion and out of the corner of her eye, Nora saw Hancock shake his head.  She’d started the running joke after finding a partially-intact copy of _A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court_ in the cellar _,_ but no one else seemed to find it funny.

     “Uh, General, maybe we should stick to the matter at hand?” Ronnie Shaw interjected, folding her arms against her chest.

     “Sure,” Nora said, “Haylen, start at the beginning.  What happened?”

     The shaken Scribe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We – the Brotherhood – knew that you’d made it into the Institute,” she said, “Elder Maxson wanted to find out what you knew.”

     “So he sent you guys to Sanctuary,” Nora finished for her, trying not to scowl. “And someone stole that holotape I made.”

     Haylen nodded. “I didn’t know about it until after we got back to the Prydwen, I swear,” she replied hurriedly, “I knew it was the wrong move, but I don’t really have --”

     Nora held up a hand to stymie the flood of explanations. “It’s alright,” she said, “That’s another matter entirely.  How long ago did you decode it and find the list of synths?”

     “I’m not a computer person,” Haylen replied, “Proctor Quinlan got all the information off it.  I don’t know how things happened but this morning I went to give him some paperwork and he was instructing one of the Knights to track down Danse and execute him, per Elder Maxson’s orders.  Danse has been AWOL since yesterday.”

     “Do you think he was one of those plants you mentioned, General?”

     Nora glanced at Ronnie Shaw and shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, “I couldn’t ever access that part of the SRB’s network.  There are so many of them, though, that have escaped and had their memories wiped…”

     “What do you mean?” Haylen asked, looking between Nora, Ronnie, and Hancock.

     Nora paused a second, debating on how much she should tell her.  There was no guarantee that any of this wasn’t a clever way of getting information out of her, thus compromising not only the Railroad but also any of the Minuteman settlements their agents had passed through.

     “Where is Danse?” she asked after a moment, “You asked me to help him, so you must have some idea where he is.”

     “I don’t know for certain,” Haylen answered, “There was this place, up north a bit, that he told our squad to fall back to if there was ever an emergency.  Listening Post Bravo.”

     “What about Amelia?”

     “She told me to come here and said she’d be behind me a day or two so it wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”

     Nora nodded. “Alright,” she said, “How long will it take to get to this fallback place?”

     “Are you really going to go after the guy?” Hancock asked her, brows furrowed.

     “If he’s a synth, then he needs help,” Nora replied, “And if he isn’t, he’s still a Brotherhood defector and he’s useful to the Minutemen.”

     She stood and turned back to Haylen. “How long to Bravo?”

     “Less than a day from the airport,” she replied, “For small, fast groups, at least.”

     “Alright.  Can you be ready to leave in ten minutes?”

     “I’m ready now.”

     Nora crossed the room to a rack of pistols on the wall and took one down, checking the hammer and sights briefly.  She grabbed a box of ammo and went back to Haylen.

     “If I give you this, you’ll be a Minuteman,” she said quietly, “And if we try to save Danse, that means the Brotherhood and the Minutemen will officially be enemies.  If you want to leave, you’re welcome to right now, no hard feelings.  But if you want to come with me, you’ll have to commit.”

     Haylen hesitated for a brief second and then took the gun and ammo.  Nora patted her shoulder and brushed past to Ronnie and Hancock.

     “Hopefully Maxson isn’t stupid enough to start a war over one incident, but prepare just in case,” she said to Ronnie, “Put out the word to be on alert.”

     “What are you planning on doing with Danse if we do find him before the Brotherhood does?” Hancock asked, matching her quick steps through the Castle’s dark hallways.

     “Sanctuary,” Nora replied after a moment, her thoughts racing. “It’s got the best defenses besides here.”

     She hurried across the courtyard to the radio tower, where Matthew, the operator, was parked with Dogmeat at his side.

     “Everything alright, General?”

     “Can you get Sanctuary on the two-way?” she asked, “Preston, preferably.”

     “No problem.”

     He flipped a few switches on the ham radio and adjusted the tuning knob.  There was a loud rustle of static and a short whine.

     “This is the Castle checking in for Sanctuary Hills,” Matthew said into the speaker, “Colonel Garvey, are you in?”

     After a brief pause, Preston’s voice crackled in through the static.

     “Garvey here,” he said, “Is there a problem down there?”

     Matthew handed Nora the speaker.  She pressed a finger to one ear and spoke as calmly as she could.

     “Hey, Pres, it’s Nora,” she answered, “I found those musket schematics you were looking for.  I was going to bring them by in a week or so.”

     “Oh, right,” Preston replied with barely a pause.  Nora swallowed a lump in her throat.

     “Sorry if I woke anybody up, I know it’s getting late,” she said, “I just wanted to give you a head’s up before I forgot.”

     “No problem.  See you soon.  Travel safe.”

     “Will do.  I expect a full welcoming party.”

     “Sure thing, General,” Preston replied with the barest hint of a laugh, “Garvey out.”

     Nora handed the speaker back to Matthew and sighed heavily as soon as he flipped the radio off.  Hancock took her hand and walked back to the General’s quarters with her.

     “Musket schematics?”

     “Our code,” she said, with a rueful smile. “Verbal panic button, so to speak, from before I started traveling with anyone besides Dogmeat.  Our way of letting each other know something’s up without alerting anyone who might be listening in.”

     He handed her the lightweight backpack she carried for short trips, the one filled with just essentials, and gave her a proud smile.

     “That’s pretty smart.”

     She tied the hip belt and shook her head. “When I was a teenager, my grandpa taught me the technique,” she said, “Shit was going downhill fast, you know?  Right before Nate was drafted we got raided a few times by military police.  We kept using the code Grandpa came up with if it happened after he left, since they censored our letters.”

     “You guys got _raided_?”

     “Yeah, they had to make sure we weren’t commie devils,” Nora answered with a cynical smile, “God forbid, right?  Trashed my fucking apartment each time.”

     She adjusted her bag again and whistled for Dogmeat.  Hancock caught a glimpse of anger in her eyes and was struck by how little he actually knew about her and the world she lived in before the war.  She bent to buckle Dogmeat’s armor in place and then looked back at him, the darkness gone from her face. 

     “You ready?”

     “As always.”

     They joined Haylen in the courtyard and followed the young woman away from the Castle and north into the deepening darkness.

 

     Danse paced the dirty little room under Listening Post Bravo, stopping briefly to wipe his sweaty palms on his flight suit.  He’d been pacing for hours on end, after checking his defenses more times than he could count, his footsteps leaving behind a worn path in the grime that coated the concrete floor.  He’d loaded the little revolver with a single shot, but had been unable to pull the trigger. 

     He resumed pacing back and forth, shaking his head as if that might help his muddled thoughts fall back into place.  How much of it had been a lie? 

     He stopped for a moment and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.  Was the pain he felt at the pressure real or was it just a clever bit of coding?

     He heard the elevator outside ding and the doors slid open.  Heart thudding against his sternum, he froze in place, hidden behind a floor-to-ceiling computer console.  A shotgun blast, a loud explosion as the machine gun turret exploded, then a moment of tense silence.

     “Holy hell,” he heard a familiar voice say, “Everyone alright?”

     There was an indistinguishable murmur of assent and then the voice called out.

     “Danse?  Danse, are you here?”

     He peeked around the corner of the console and stared in shock for a moment.  It was Nora, accompanied by her dog, that ostentatious ghoul, and Scribe Haylen.  He took a step forward and met her eyes, unsure what to say.  She let out a heavy, visible sigh of relief and handed her shotgun to the ghoul before skirting the rubble separating the two rooms.

     “What are you doing here, Nora?”

     “Hello to you, too,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Haylen asked me to help, so I’m here to help.”

     “Why?”

     “Uh, because you’re a human being who doesn’t deserve to be executed for something you can’t control?” Nora replied, eyebrow raised. “I mean, if you’re chomping at the bit to take a dirt nap, be my guest, but honestly, we busted ass getting here so it’d be really swell if you stopped asking questions and let me take you somewhere safe.”

     Danse hesitated.  His inherent need for self-preservation told him it was a good idea to go with her, but there was long list of rational and ideological reasons why he shouldn’t.

     Nora tilted her head slightly and stared at him for a moment.  The scrutiny made him squirm.

     “You didn’t know, did you?”

     Danse sighed and shook his head. “No,” he said, “What does it matter to you?”

     “I’ll tell you when we’re somewhere safer,” she replied, “For now, please just come with me.”

     He started to say something, but was interrupted by a loud, angry voice from near the elevators.

     “What the hell is going on here?”


	58. Be Nice

     The hate in Maxson’s eyes and voice was palpable, hot and terrifying like the breath of some monster on Danse’s face.  He had seen the Elder’s temper flare before, but never had it been so immense, and never directed at him.

     “Elder, please, don’t do this --”

     Maxson turned his fiery gaze on Haylen, who recoiled like he’d slapped her.

     “I’ll deal with you in a moment,” he growled.  Nora stepped in front of the group and faced Maxson with her jaw set firmly.

     “Leave now, and you can keep face,” she said, eyes levelled on him and tone neutral. “You can tell your soldiers whatever self-serving story you want, but you aren’t going to execute anyone today.”  
     “I’m not going anywhere until that _thing_ is destroyed.”

     “Hey, don’t get nasty, _kid_ ,” Nora shot back, her expression deepening into a frown. “Shut up, turn around, and go home.”

     Her words seemed to make Maxson even angrier, if that was possible.

     “Why are you defending it?” he seethed, “It’s not a man.  It’s an automaton created by the Institute.”

     Nora shook her head. “You may think so,” she said, “But I’ve seen how his kind comes into being and I can assure you, synths may be different, but they are people.”

     “Different?” Maxson scoffed, eyes cold with derision. “Like Ghouls?”

     His gaze flicked briefly to Hancock, who leaned against one wall with his hat pulled down low.  He chuckled softly and gave Maxson a dark smile.

     “Yes,” Nora interrupted, “I’m not going to argue with you, Maxson.  The Institute is playing God and destroying the sanctity of life in more ways than you know.  But synths like Danse are not the enemy.”

     “Look around you, General,” Maxson yelled, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Look at the scorched earth outside and the bones that litter the Wasteland.  Look at--”

     “I have seen it, Elder!” Nora replied fiercely, voice raised for the first time.  She took a step closer to Maxson and glared, her face dark with anger and grief.  Maxson stopped, almost surprised at her outburst.

     “I have seen it,” she repeated, quietly. “I was there when the world ended.  When _my_ world ended.  It wasn’t technology run amok that destroyed the world.  It was fear and hate and soldiers blindly following orders.  Those nuclear bombs didn’t detonate themselves any more than synths created themselves.  Humans did that.”

     “So you’re willing to completely disregard the repercussions of allowing that thing to exist?”

     “I thought I was human and I have done absolutely nothing to betray your trust, Arthur,” Danse spoke up from beside Nora, “It may be true that I was created in a lab and some of my memories are artificial.  But ever since the Brotherhood took me in, I have done everything in my power to uphold its ideals.  When my brothers died at my feet, I grieved for them.  When I defeated an enemy, I took pride in the accomplishment.  When I heard your speech about saving the Commonwealth, I felt hope for mankind.”

     “None of that matters,” Maxson spat at him, “You simply should not exist and I don’t intend to debate this any longer.  Don’t stand in my way, General.”

     Nora placed a hand on Maxson’s chest. “I am standing in your way,” she said coolly, “The Commonwealth is my home and has been for centuries.  I rebuilt the Minutemen from a single, half-suicidal soldier into a real militia and I will protect their home and mine down to the last bullet.  If you want to test me, go ahead.  But as I told the Brotherhood once before…you will live to regret it.”

     Maxson looked down at her hand on his chest, both furious and bewildered.  Danse’s palms were sweating again, his pulse racing like a spooked Initiate.  After staring down Nora for a moment, Maxson glanced to Hancock and Scribe Haylen behind her, to the tense shepherd waiting at her knee, and then to him.  For a brief moment, Danse could see a hint of sadness behind the hate in his eyes, a painful reminder of the insecure Squire that once roamed the halls of the Citadel.

     “Leave,” Nora repeated, lowering her hand.  She and Maxson stepped apart from each other and the Elder glanced back at Danse.

     “You are banished from the Brotherhood,” he said, “Your name will be stricken from the rolls and you are no longer permitted aboard the Prydwen or in any Brotherhood-occupied territory.”

     He turned his gaze on Scribe Haylen. “The same goes for you.”

     Danse looked at his feet and then back at the Elder. “Thank you, Arthur.”

     “Don’t mistake my mercy for acceptance.”

     With that, he turned and left, the elevator doors clanging shut behind him.  The group waited in silence until they could hear the distant rumble of a vertibird take off above them.  Nora let out a heavy breath and shook her head.

     “I need a drink.  And a nap.”

 

     The foursome stayed at Listening Post Bravo that night, bedding down on threadbare sleeping bags in relative silence.  Haylen fell asleep first, curled into the corner with Dogmeat flopped beside her.  Nora went down next, hand resting on a book she had pulled from her pack but never actually opened.  Hancock sat with her newly-repaired Pip-Boy in his lap, absentmindedly gliding through _Red Menace_ with the sound off.  The quiet was peaceful, or it would have been had Danse not been pacing from one end of the room to the other, over and over and over.

     “Do you mind?” Hancock said after a moment, scowling up at the soldier. “There’s enough anxiety in this room without you doing that.”

     Danse scowled back at him. “What do you care?”

     Hancock rolled his eyes and dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Look, I can appreciate the emotional turmoil you must be going through, but just…sit the fuck down, okay?”

     Danse’s scowl deepened but he stopped pacing and sat as requested, stiff and broody as he glanced around the room.  Hancock lit his cigarette and went back to the game on the Pip-Boy.  Several minutes passed.  He could feel Danse’s gaze on him.

     When he’d finally had enough, he set the Pip-Boy aside and glowered at Danse. “Alright, Crew-Cut,” he declared, “I’m flattered, really, but you ain’t my type.”

     Danse returned his glare. “I’d rather sterilize myself.”

     “Be my guest.”

     He took a long drag off the cigarette and then flicked the ash to the side.  He paused as the nicotine flooded his bloodstream and then blew out the smoke in a soothing puff.  Beside him, Nora shifted in her sleep and tensed.  He laid a hand on her shoulder and waited until the stiffness in her limbs relaxed again.  When he pulled his hand back, he caught Danse looking at them, but he glanced away quickly.

     “Does she have nightmares?” the soldier asked after a moment, speaking to the floor.  Hancock hesitated a moment and then nodded.

     “They get worse when she doesn’t sleep enough,” he said, “So be grateful that she skipped quite a few hours to come up here and save your ass.”

     “Why did _you_ come?”

     Hancock blew out another mouthful of smoke. “Just to piss you off, Danse.”

     Danse scowled again.

     “Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer, Tin Can.”

     Danse looked like he was about to say something but was interrupted by the alert tone of Nora’s Pip-Boy.  Hancock picked it up and glanced at the message from Sanctuary.

     _All good?_

     He fiddled with the knobs for a moment before figuring out how to send a reply message, then set it back down beside Nora.  She was awake, watching him through heavy lids.

     _Be nice_ , she mouthed at him, jerking her chin in Danse’s direction.  The bulky soldier was back to pacing.  Hancock held in an aggravated sigh and shuffled down to lie next to her.  He settled his hat over his face, but he could still hear Danse’s hurried, monotonous footsteps vibrating through the concrete floor.

     Be nice.  Diplomacy.  Right.       


	59. In Sheep's Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update! I wrote this and some of the last few chapters in one marathon session a couple nights ago, so I hope you enjoy.

     “So remind me again why we have to visit this cesspool?”

     Nora shot Hancock a look and then waved to one of the Diamond City guards patrolling the outer edges of the city.

     “I need ammo and I have to check in with Piper and Nick,” she said, for probably the thousandth time since they’d left the listening post. “It’ll take me all of twenty minutes.”

     “And you’re going to leave me with the tin can while you’re gone.”

     “Yes, because you’re both grown men and if you can’t go twenty minutes without a babysitter, then you deserve whatever you do to each other,” Nora snapped, “If you can’t bear the idea of being in his presence that long, then go find a dark alley to skulk in with some Jet.  I promise, you’ll survive.”

     If he had much of a bottom lip, Nora was certain Hancock would have been pouting at her.  She gave his hand a squeeze and shifted her pack, reaching for a pouch of caps on her hips.  Danse and Haylen were talking a few feet away, Danse shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.  Nora turned back to Hancock when several gunshots rang through the air.

     Instinctively, Nora reached for the pistol on her hip.  There were a few more shots and then a loud crash of metal on metal. 

     “That’s coming from inside,” one of the security guards shouted, pushing past the open gate to hurry inside.  Nora followed, heart thudding as Hancock yelled something at her back.

     As she pounded down the walkway, she took in the scene before her.  Danny Sullivan was slumped in front of the chapel, bleeding profusely from what she guessed was a bullet to the stomach.  A crowd of onlookers had gathered, including the pastor and Piper’s little sister Nat.

     “What’s going on?” Nora asked, grabbing Nat’s shoulder.  The preteen turned to stare at her for a moment, eyes wide with shock.

     “McDonough,” she said, “Mayor McDonough’s a synth!”

     Nora’s heart plummeted into her stomach.  Footsteps came up behind her – Hancock, Danse, and Haylen.  The pastor shouted for someone to get a doctor.

     “Here,” Nora said, pushing her way through the crowd in a daze, holding out one of the Stimpaks from her side pocket.  The pastor took it with a terse “thank you” and stabbed the needle into Danny’s shoulder. 

     “He’s in his office,” Danny gasped out as a tinge of pink returned to his ashen face, “He shot me.  He’s got a hostage…”

     Shit.  Nora glanced around, hoping to find Piper or Nick in all the mess, but neither was anywhere to be found.

     “She went up there to confront him,” Nat supplied, pointing to McDonough’s office above them.

     Double shit.

     “Nat, can you go get Nick Valentine for me?” Nora asked, looking for any excuse to get the little girl out of the throng of terrified citizens and bewildered security guards. “Take Dogmeat with you, okay?”

     Nat nodded and loped off with the shepherd on her heels.  Nora holstered her pistol and started up the iron gangway to the elevator.  Hancock followed behind her.  She wanted to tell him to stay behind as a litany of undesirable scenarios involving him confronting his brother’s replacement played in her head, but she knew he wouldn’t listen.  The shit was really starting to hit the fan now.

     As they rode the wobbling, dented elevator up to McDonough’s office, Nora glanced over at Hancock.  He stared straight ahead with a blank expression, shotgun cradled loosely in his hands.  Somehow that was worse than an angry outburst.  She took a deep breath and gripped the railing to steady her hands as they approached the top and Piper’s yelling reached her ears.

     “I knew it!  I knew you were a synth, McDonough!”

     From behind the locked doors of his office, McDonough yelled back at her.

     “Yes, Piper, congratulations!” he answered, angry and condescending. “You won!  I hope you break your foot trying to break that door down!”

     “Piper, what the fuck?” Nora exclaimed as the young reporter stepped back and threw a particularly vicious kick against the locked doors.

     “It won’t budge!” she answered, “He’s locked it!”

     “I can see that,” Nora said, “Just, calm down, alright?”

     She grabbed a bobby pin from the bun she was wearing and knelt in front of the door, jamming it into the lock as she tried not to think about the fact that she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do if she actually got it open.  Nick would know how to handle it – where _was_ he?

     After a few moments of tense fiddling, the lock popped and the doors swung open.  Nora stood and surveyed the scene in front of her. 

     Geneva, the blond secretary, was on her knees in front of McDonough, hands held out in surrender.

     “Help me,” she wailed, tears streaming down her face. “He-he’s crazy!”

     “Don’t come any closer!” McDonough yelled, pointing his gun at Nora.  She stopped and held up her hands.

     “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said, “I can help you, but you have to let Geneva go.”

     McDonough paused, hands shaking. “Alright…alright, fine.”

     With a choked sob, Geneva sobbed and stood, stumbling out of the office and past Piper and Hancock.

     “Alright, tell me what’s going on,” Nora said, “Did you shoot Danny?”

     “It’s _your_ fault!” McDonough spat at her, “You told everyone who I was!”

     “I promise that I didn’t,” Nora replied, “I don’t know how anyone found out.”

     “They sent some discount messenger to tell me I’ve outlived my usefulness,” McDonough continued, wild-eyed and tense as an electrical wire. “I’m not going to let them discard me and toss me to the wolves!”

     “Alright,” Nora said, trying to keep her voice steady and soothing. “I understand, McDonough.  Put the gun down and let me help you.”

     “What are you going to do?  Send me back to the Institute?  Let these savages tear me apart?  It’s not going to happen!”

     “McDonough, please, there are options for you,” Nora replied, “But you have to own up to what you did to Danny.”

     “I will not!”

     He lifted the revolver and Nora had half a second to brace herself, but the shot came from behind her.  McDonough’s head exploded and he dropped in a puddle of blood.  Nora gaped and turned.  Nick was standing behind her, frowning as he reholstered his gun.

     “Sorry, but that wasn’t going to end well anyway,” he said dryly, “Damn shame.”

     Nora let out the breath she’d been holding and willed her heart rate to slow.  Hancock was still standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock.  Piper sighed and shook her head.

     “I can’t say he deserved any less, but…”

     Nora nodded in agreement.  Despite her best efforts, the body count continued to rise.

     She walked over to the synth McDonough’s body, bile rising in her throat.  Nick’s bullet had gone straight through his forehead, taking off most of the skull and splattering brain matter everywhere.  Covered in blood and bits of skull was the synth component, nestled between what was left of the brain hemispheres and connected by hundreds of tiny gold threads that worked their way through the organ like the striations in a geode.

     Nick joined her, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I didn’t want to, but you deserve this even less than he did.”

     “It’s alright.  Thanks for saving me.”

     “Don’t mention it, kiddo,” he said, then glanced over at Hancock. “Your man looks a tad, uh, shell-shocked.”

     “Can you take him over to Home Plate?  I want to take care of this body before…”

     She trailed off with another heavy sigh and Nick nodded.

     “Of course.”

     “Thank you.  There’s a key taped inside the mailbox.”

     Nick gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and then left, guiding Hancock like a parent would a confused child.

     “What are you planning to do?” Piper asked, still standing back from the body.  She had lit a cigarette, her nervous habit, and her nose was wrinkled.

     “With this body, nothing,” Nora said, “I don’t have a clue what should be done with it.”

     She walked back over to her backpack, dropped near the doors, and rifled through the pockets for a couple of holotapes inside.  Sturges had made her a couple more of the network scanners she’d taken into the Institute; she’d wanted to get a hold of McDonough’s terminal entries for a long time but had never felt the risk of breaking into the mayor’s office was worth it.

     She popped the tape into McDonough’s terminal and set it to scanning, glancing out the window and into the city market.  Security guards were heading for the elevator, apparently done arguing about what to do.  Just as the metal lift clanged and she heard their footsteps, the tape popped out.  She shoved it into a pocket and scooted out the door with Piper.

     The guards were talking to each other as she passed, debating in harried voices.

     “Well, someone has to go tell Mrs. McDonough.”


	60. Finding Closure

     Home Plate was dark and quiet except for the dim light of a terminal and the gentle click of a single key every few seconds.  Danse stared into the darkness around him, unable to sleep.  After a few long minutes of clicking and the shuffle of whoever was sitting at the terminal, he stood and tiptoed around the corner into Nora’s living room.

     She was sitting at the wobbly little desk, features lit up by the light of the terminal in front of her.  Dogmeat was asleep on the couch nearby, but his ears twitched when Danse approached.  He hesitated a second before speaking up.

     “Everything alright?”

     Nora jumped, knocking over a plastic cup of water next to her.  “Shit, Danse,” she breathed, hand at her chest. “Gimme a heart attack, why don’t you?”

     “Sorry,” he muttered, bending to grab the cup for her.  She waved a hand dismissively and gave him a tired smile.

     “It’s okay,” she said, then stood and grabbed a ragged towel to mop up the spilled water. “I wasn’t keeping everyone up, was I?”

     “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”  


     Nora nodded and sighed. “Me either,” she said, “Probably not going to for a while.”

     “What were you reading?” Danse asked, nodding to the terminal.  Nora glanced over at it, the corners of her mouth downturned in sadness.

     “The synth McDonough’s terminal entries,” she said, “Journal entries and speech notes, mostly.”

     “Looking for something specific?”

     “Yeah,” Nora replied.  She tossed the wet towel over a stool to dry and stretched.  He tried not to stare at her as she combed back her loose red hair and secured it with an elastic band.  

     “Going somewhere?”

     She stopped and raised an eyebrow at him, her hand on a shovel propped near the door. “Mr. Twenty Questions tonight, huh?”

     “Sorry.”

     “I’m messing with you, Danse,” she said, mouth twitching. “Don’t mention that I told you, but, uh…”

     She glanced at Hancock’s shotgun, resting on a weapon rack nearby, and then sighed.

     “Mayor McDonough was Hancock’s brother,” she murmured, “I was trying to figure out when he was replaced and what they did with the real man’s body.”

     “I’m guessing you found the body?”

     “Possibly,” she said, “Care to join me on a little archeology expedition?”

     Danse hesitated a moment. “I don’t want to intrude or anything…”

     “I could use your muscle,” Nora said, “It’s not like a family dinner or something you’re crashing, but if you’re not up for it, I’m not going to hold it against you.”

     “It’s not that, it’s just…” Danse struggled to find the words amidst a confusing mix of emotions concerning Nora, synths, and ghouls. “You know, I’m…and he just…”

     Nora nodded, seeming to catch on to what he was attempting to say. “Well, like I said to Maxson…synths aren’t the real enemy.”

 

     Twenty minutes later, the pair had broken into a basement room underneath the mayor’s office, a dusty concrete bunker similar to the listening post but smaller, darker, and filled with old supply crates.  The synth detective and that young reporter Nora had been chatting with earlier in the day joined them, the detective carting a sledgehammer and a second shovel.

     “You’re sure this is it?”

     Nora shrugged. “The terminal entries mentioned that he had this place locked up, but not for any particular reason,” she said, “So maybe we’ll find a body, maybe we’ll just find Guy’s collection of naughty magazines.”

     “Gross,” Piper muttered, wrinkling her nose.

     “Here you go, Muscles,” the synth detective said to Danse, holding out the sledgehammer. “Hack away.”

     It didn’t take long to find what they were looking for.  Danse broke apart a large section of the concrete floor as the other three cleared away the rubble and began to dig.  Less than two feet into the dirt below, Piper shifted a shovelful of dirt and revealed the top part of a skull.  It was still covered by a thin, papery layer of half-mummified skin.

     “Okay, maybe it would have been better to find the magazines,” she said, stepping back from the grave with her mouth covered.  Nora covered her mouth and nose with her forearm and began scooping aside handfuls of more dirt, gradually revealing the top half of the skeleton.  It was mostly decomposed, bits of cartilage and the remnants of a tailored brown suit clinging to the bones.  Nora sighed and pulled the right arm, lifting the hand and wrist out of the dirt.  A dirty gold watch slid off it.

     “Guy McDonough,” she said, squinting at an engraving on the back face. “2276.”

     “His replacement was wearing a copy,” Piper said, “Same date and everything.”

     “So we have no idea _when_ he was replaced,” Nora sighed, standing up and shaking her head. “Danse, do you still have your holotags?”

     He nodded and pulled them from his shirt pocket, handing the little bits of steel over to Nora.  She wiped a thumb over his name and shook her head.

     “Do you guys mind if I skip out for a few hours?” she asked, “I need to have a talk with some people.”

     “Tread lightly,” Nick warned, fixing her with a piercing stare. “We all want you to come back here.”

     “I haven’t been treading lightly since I first went there,” she replied.  There was a hard edge to her voice.  Danse was about to ask where she was going when she hit a button on the side of her Pip-Boy and disappeared in a blinding flash of blue light.

     “What…what was that?”

     “She teleported into the Institute,” Piper answered, nudging a rock away from McDonough’s skeleton with a grimace. “Probably going to have a nice Nora-style heart to heart with the director.”

     “She knows the Director?” Danse asked, dumbfounded. “She can get in and out at will?”

     Nick Valentine gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah, she knows the Director…she gave birth to him.”

 

     Nora strode through the glass-walled hallways of the Institute, her anger and grief growing with each step.  Finding McDonough’s skeleton felt like a punch to the stomach, confirmation that her son was willing to kill innocent people to further the misguided agenda of the Institute.  Her heart ached for a woman she’d never met who would soon find out her son was dead and had been for an untold amount of time, and for the man she’d left at Home Plate high out of his mind as he grappled with what had happened.

     She made it to the Directorate meeting room and stopped in front of the door, hand outstretched to press the open button.  She could hear Shaun’s voice inside, intermingled with others.  She hesitated, not wanting to make a scene, then took a deep breath and pressed the button.  Scratch that, this was the perfect time to make a scene.  Again.

     The door opened to reveal Shaun, Justin Ayo, and Allie Fillmore deep in conversation at the end of the long conference table.

     “Mother,” Shaun said, bearded face splitting into a polite smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

     “M7-97,” she replied, dropping Danse’s holotags onto the table. “Who was he?”

     “What are you…?”

     “M7-97 is the designation of a synth who thought he was a human,” she said, “He was almost executed about three days ago because he had joined the Brotherhood of Steel and they found out what he was.”

     Shaun and Ayo exchanged looks.  Allie leaned forward and peered at the holotags, her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

     “Who was he?” Nora demanded, slapping the table with her palm. “I want an answer, Ayo.”

     “Well, without looking at the records, I can’t…”

     “Then look at the fucking records,” Nora snarled, clenching her fists.

     “Mother,” Shaun interrupted, “We’ve discussed this.”

     “Yes, we have,” she said, “And I don’t give a shit whether or not you want to say synths are humans.  M7 – or as I know him, Paladin Danse – is just the tip of the iceberg.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Earlier today I found your Diamond City plant,” she said, “ _Someone_ told him he was going to be decommissioned but didn’t bother to bring him back here first.  He panicked and almost killed me and a hostage.”

     Shaun turned to Ayo. “What is she talking about?”

     “That synth died,” Nora interrupted, “And so did the one replacing Roger Warwick.  Two days ago, his hired help found out he was a replacement and shot him.  In front of Roger’s wife and children.”

     “None of that would have happened if you hadn’t stolen information from the network,” Ayo scolded, fixing her with a death glare.                                                                                            

     “Don’t you dare blame this on me,” Nora seethed, gripping Danse’s holotags and McDonough’s watch so hard the metal bit into her skin. “People knew you were replacing them with synths long before I was even released from the Vault.  I just gave them hard proof, and I didn't even do it intentionally."

     “Mother, this is tragic, but I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about it now.”

     “I can try to get closure for the families of Roger Warwick and Guy McDonough,” she said, “I can give M7-97 peace of mind.”

     “Everything we do, we do in the name of advancing mankind,” Allie said, “We’re not replacing people maliciously.  We’re trying to help the surface.”

     “You don’t improve humanity by killing humans!” Nora bellowed, “You don’t advance mankind by hiding underground and conducting amoral experiments on our families and our farms and our drinking water.  You don’t help us by hoarding your technology away from anyone who disagrees with you.”

     She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to hold back the angry tears that threatened to overflow.

     “Your father died trying to protect you from this, Shaun,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so disappointed in someone.”

     She took another breath and stuffed the holotags and watch back into her pocket.  She looked back up at Shaun, wanting to reach out and touch him, hug him, hold her baby close one last time.  The man that stared back at her wasn’t her baby, though…he was a stranger, a man who had lived a lifetime without her and didn’t understand the world he was born into or what had become of it.  He didn’t need her, didn’t care about the things she did, and didn’t truly want her there anymore.

     “I’m going home,” she said, “Deactivate my Courser chip because I’m not going to need it anymore.”


	61. On Not Giving Up

     Nora couldn’t face Mrs. McDonough.

     She sat curled on the couch in Nick and Ellie’s living space, arms around Dogmeat, listening as her tears fell into the shepherd’s fur.  She hadn’t been able to find the closure she needed for her older son and couldn’t convince her younger one to see her.  She hadn’t found out anything about Danse’s identity.  She had burnt all the bridges that might have existed between herself and the Brotherhood and Institute.

     She could see Nate’s face when she closed her eyes, disappointed in her.  After returning to Home Plate from the Institute, she had panicked for a moment and tried to teleport back in, but as she had requested, her Courser chip had already been deactivated.  Unless he came to her – and she knew he wouldn’t – she would never see Shaun again.  Nate should have been the survivor.  Calm, controlled, patient Nate would have found a compromise everyone could live with.

     “We’ll keep trying, Martha,” Nick was saying, his voice carrying easily from the other room.

     “Thank you, Nick,” Martha McDonough replied, “You’ve done so much for us.”

     Nora hugged Dogmeat closer.  He whimpered and licked at her face, tail thumping on the dusty cushions.  She heard Nick and Martha talking, then the door opened and closed and silence fell.  Nora sat up and wiped her face on her shirt, drawing in a shuddering breath before poking her head around the corner.

     “Coast is clear,” Nick said, giving her a wry smile. “Come sit down, kiddo.”

     Nora did as she was told, slumping into the chair across from the old synth.  It felt like a lifetime ago that she had sat in the same spot telling him what had happened in Vault 111.  Almost a full year…

     “You know none of this is your fault, right?”

     Nora looked up from her lap and shrugged. “I know it isn’t,” she said, “But I still feel guilty.”

     Nick gave a wordless murmur of understanding.  Nora glanced around his desk and spotted a stack of battered yellow holotapes, each with a small end label – E.W. followed by a number.

     “You found all the Eddie Winter tapes,” she blurted in surprise, “You didn’t mention that.”

     “Uh, yeah,” Nick replied, “Picked up the last over in Natick a few weeks ago.”

     “Did you figure out the code?”

     “Yeah, this old thing is still good for something,” Nick said, tapping the side of his head with a small smile.

     “Where is he?” Nora pressed, “Please tell me he’s nearby.”

     “He’s in a bunker under Andrew Station.”

     “Son of a bitch…”

     “Yeah, on the Southie precinct’s doorstep,” Nick agreed, “I’m sure your boss is rolling in his grave.”

     Nora shook her head. “Are you ready to go take care of him?”

     “I’m ready,” he answered, “But I figured you were kind of busy at the moment.”

     “I could really use the distraction.”

     “Alright then,” Nick said after a moment of scrutinizing her, “Walking there should only take a few hours, so whenever you’re ready.”

 

     “Who the fuck are you?”

     Even ghoulified, Eddie Winter was unmistakable.  Nora stood in the doorway of his little bunker and tried not to gape.  The same impeccable haircut, the same relaxed posture, the same thick Boston accent.  All the time and resources she and her coworkers had poured into finding him and taking him down, only to find him right there underneath their feet.

     “The name’s Valentine,” Nick said, stepping past her with his pistol raised. “Nick Valentine.  Remember me?”

     “Valentine?  The cop?” Winter stared at Nick for a moment and shook his head. “Nah.  You can’t be him.  You’re some sort of…robot.”

     Nick set his jaw.  His face was cold and dark, calculating.  Nora sucked in a breath as her heart seized.  The synth in front of her had never seemed more like her old friend and mentor than right then; past and present converged for a moment and made her head spin.

     “You killed my fiancé,” Nick said, ignoring Winter’s jab. “Jennifer Lands.”

     “Your fiancé?  You mean Nick’s fiancé?” Winter replied, shaking his head. “I remember her.  Pretty girl.  Shame what happened to her.”

     Nora tightened her grip on her gun but managed to stay silent.  Over two hundred years later and she still felt a pang of fear and sorrow thinking of Jenny and how everything had gone downhill for Nick when she was killed.

     “But you know…Valentine should have known when to back off,” Winter continued, a smug smile tugging at his ruined mouth. “Should have just left well enough alone.”

     “You smarmy bastard,” Nora said, “Still not an ounce of remorse.”

     “The fuck do you care?” Winter snapped, “Who are you?  Some wasteland scavver and a robot who thinks he’s alive?”

     “I’m more alive than you’re about to be,” Nick replied, and lifted his gun.

     It happened in a matter of seconds.  Two shots echoed through the little bunker, one sailing though Nick’s shoulder and the other slamming into the brick beside Nora.  She raised her pistol to aim, but Nick slammed into Eddie and knocked him to the ground; another shot and Eddie was still on the ground, a bullet square between his eyes.

     “And down he goes.”

     Nora shook her head and stopped beside Nick, glancing down at Winter’s corpse. “Makes you wonder why we wasted so much time on evidence and jury trials and all that.”

     “It was a different world,” Nick conceded.  Nora glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and nodded.  He sounded sad, defeated, and tired, the same way she felt. 

     They stood there for a few quiet moments as Winter’s blood puddled and darkened behind his head.  Nora had expected to feel angry and empty, like she had after killing Kellogg, but instead, it was…relief.  One less ghost from the past coming to haunt her while the present continued to create new ones.  One problem taken care of, quick and simple and without collateral damage.

     “There was one last thing I wanted to do,” Nick said finally, “If you wanted to tag along.”

     “Of course, Nick.”

     He led the way out of the bunker and through the underground tunnels, back to the surface through a ladder into the remains of a little diner.  Nora hauled herself out of the manhole and straightened, suddenly struck by an eerie sense of déjà vu.

     “Nick, is this…?”

     “Yeah,” he replied simply, kicking through detritus on the grimy tile floor. “Right out there on the sidewalk, one of Eddie’s goons put a bullet in Jenny’s back two hundred years ago.”

     Nora took in the shop, astonished and saddened.  Outside was the Grey Tortoise billboard and the walkway along the bay.  A gull squawked loudly and again she had the weird feeling of being in the past and present at the same time.  212 years ago, she had eaten lunch with Jenny in this diner and given her the news that she was pregnant.  She was terrified but Jenny had been ecstatic for her, gushing over her.  She had been one of Nora’s few friends at the time, she and Nick, and not twenty minutes later she was dead on the ground.

     “I had hoped that putting down Winter would give me some peace,” Nick said, wandering out of the shop. “Put away one of the last reminders that I’m just a copy of some old cop from a bygone era.”

     Nora nodded. “Sorry,” she said, “I’m probably not helping much.”

     Nick gave her a small smile. “You haven’t done a thing wrong, kiddo,” he answered, “It’s just…ever since I woke up in that trash heap and figured out I’m not a human, I’ve wanted something of my own.  Something I could say _I_ did, not the old Nick.”

     Nora stared at him with her jaw hanging a little. “Nick, you have so much that doesn’t belong to him,” she said after a moment, “You remind me of him all the time, but…you aren’t him.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “After Jenny died, he gave up,” Nora replied with a heavy sigh, “When the bombs dropped, I hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year.”

     “What happened?”

     “He changed,” Nora said, “I don’t blame him.  I’ve wanted to lay down and die many times without Nate…unfortunately, that’s what Nick did.  He stopped coming to work.  He stood me up on a court date I wanted him to testify at.  He got mixed up in those CIT crazies that became the Institute.”

     “My last memories before waking up in the ruins,” Nick said, shaking his head.  Nora nodded.

     “When Shaun was born, I got a bouquet at the hospital,” she continued, “From Nick.  It was signed but he didn’t call or visit or anything.  I tried to reconcile with him but it just never happened.”

     “What are you saying, Nora?”

     “You didn’t give up, Nick,” she answered, “You woke up long after the apocalypse with no idea what had happened or who you were supposed to be, but you kept going.  Helped people, built the agency.  Helped me find my son.  We took down Winter and brought long-overdue justice to all the people he hurt or killed.  That wasn’t something the old Nick was capable of, but you did it.”

     Nick regarded her for a moment with a sullen expression.  Finally, he gave her a small smile.

     “I guess you’re right, kiddo,” he said, “Thanks.”

     “That’s another thing.  The old Nick never called me ‘kiddo’.”

     “Well, if taking down Winter and not disappointing you is the only thing I can claim belongs to me and not him or the Institute, I can die happy,” Nick replied, putting an arm around her. “I don’t think I can ever thank you properly for helping me out.”

     “You’re welcome to try,” Nora quipped as they left the shadow of the old diner, “You know – caps, armaments, real estate…”

     “Always a wise ass,” Nick said with a chuckle, “I think you’ve claimed quite enough _real estate_ in the name of the Minutemen.”

     Nora smiled, feeling an uncharacteristic lightness as they turned back toward Diamond City.  The sun was close to the horizon but they could make it back before it got too late.  They walked in comfortable silence for a while before Nick spoke again.

     “Not to ruin the mood, but I’m curious,” he said, “You got any plans now that you told the Institute to stuff it?”

     Nora shook her head. “Not right now,” she replied, “Going to take Danse and Haylen to Sanctuary, then probably go back to the Castle.  Finish redecorating and whatnot, you know.”

     “The Minutemen have big a big damn deal with you at the helm,” Nick said, “You should be proud of that.”

     “I didn’t do it alone,” Nora argued, “I’ve had more helpers than I can count.”

     “Yeah, but you got them to come,” Nick said, “Got them to put aside the politics and focus on a common cause.”

     “Yeah.”

     “Don’t sell yourself short, kiddo.  You’ve done more good in one year than some have in a lifetime.”


	62. No Thanks Needed

     Nora and her entourage left Diamond City the next morning, pushing through the wilderness at a brutal pace.  They walked in silence, stopping only once to rest for a few minutes on the outskirts of Lexington.  It began raining at that point, a bone-chilling drizzle that soaked right through armor and clothing alike.  By the time Nora led the way past the Red Rocket she was freezing, exhausted, and thoroughly miserable.

     Preston met them at the bridge and volunteered to find spare beds for Haylen and Danse.  Nora hugged him gratefully and promised a full explanation in the morning, then headed for her own home.  Hancock followed, his sullen silence unbroken.  Even Dogmeat seemed uncharacteristically glum.

     “I feel like I could sleep for a year,” Nora sighed, peeling off her boots once they were inside.  She glanced surreptitiously at Hancock but he didn’t respond.  Dogmeat flopped over onto the rug and began rubbing himself dry, legs kicking in the air and tail swishing as he grunted loudly.  Nora shook her head, too exhausted to scold him.

     “I’m heading to bed,” she said after a moment, “Coming?”

     “In a few.”

     Nora nodded and trudged to her bedroom, shedding her wet clothes and leaving them in a heap in the corner.  She changed into a ratty t-shirt, then rolled up into the blanket and mentally added “central heating” to the list of prewar conveniences she’d taken for granted.

     The silence in the house deepened as she stared at the ceiling, hoping Hancock would join her soon, if only for his warmth under the blanket.  He had barely spoken to her in the three days since the incident in Diamond City, which worried and exhausted her at the same time.  If he had gone on a chem binge or run off somewhere, she could have done something for him, but she was basically useless against his emotionless silence.

     Just as she began to drift off, she woke to the soft shuffling of fabric and the click of the door closing.  Hancock climbed into bed behind her and pulled her close.  She rolled to face him and he immediately captured her in a deep kiss, hands sliding purposefully down her side towards her thigh.  She shivered involuntarily and her pulse jumped.  She wanted to, definitely, but…

     “John.” She pulled back and took a deep breath. “John, is this really…”

     He ignored her and kissed along her jaw and down her neck, pressing his hips into hers.  She could feel his erection pushing against her thigh.

     “John, stop,” she said, pushing him away.  She flipped off the blanket and jumped out of bed, taking a few steps back and exhaling shakily.

     “What’d I do?”

     “Nothing,” she said as cold air bit at her skin, “You didn’t do anything wrong, John, but I don’t want to do this while you’re messed up.”

     “Sunshine, I haven’t imbibed in days.”

     “You know what I mean.”

     He didn’t respond for a moment.  Nora exhaled and hugged herself, watching him in the darkness.  She took in the expanse of scarred, tanned flesh, itching to touch it, but held back.  Hancock sat up and scooted to the edge of the mattress, grabbing her hips and resting his head against her stomach. 

     “Please, Nora,” he whispered into her nightshirt, “Please, I just want to feel something besides…”

     In an instant, her heart broke for him and her resolve wavered.  She sighed and leaned down to kiss him, gripping his shoulders as he pulled her back down onto the bed.  He pushed her hair back from her face and gave her the tiniest smile in the dark.

     “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

     Nora smiled back and kissed him, her hands roaming across his back, fingers tracing the uneven topography of his skin.  He leaned into her, continuing his earlier quest to kiss down her neck and shoulders, teeth nipping at a sensitive spot just above her collarbone. 

     “I love you,” he muttered into her cold skin, shifting just enough to grab her shirt at the hem and yank it up and over her head.

     “I love you, too,” Nora replied, moving her hips against his.  He groaned and made short work of her underwear and the blanket tangled between them, tossing both to the floor with her shirt and his clothes.  She entwined their hands as he settled himself between her thighs and rocked against him again.

     “John…”

     He moved faster than usual, chasing a quick release.  Nora hooked her legs around his slender form, head thrown back against the pillows as he thrust into her, delicious tension building in her muscles.

     “Shit, love, you’re perfect…Fuck, Nora --”

     She sucked in a quick breath as her thoughts scrambled somewhere between her brain and her mouth.  Her release was close, her nerve endings screaming and unraveling as he kept moving against her.  He paused for a split second and shifted position, pushing deep into her.  She came right then, panting into his kisses, eyes squeezed shut as he came shortly after with a throaty moan.

     He exhaled heavily and fell onto the mattress next to her, still holding her hands.  Nora sighed in satisfaction and wiggled into his embrace.  They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, her back against his chest, his chin resting on top her head, legs tangled together. 

     “You’re freezing, Sunshine.”

     He leaned over her and snatched the blanket off the floor, then tucked it around them.  Nora closed her eyes as warmth flooded over her.

     “Get some sleep, John,” she mumbled, unable to keep her eyes open.  He kissed her temple and squeezed her hand.

     “Thank you, Nora.”

     “You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”

    

     Sanctuary was a busy place – busier and more lively than most Commonwealth settlements Danse had been to.  He’d spent the night in a barracks-style bunkhouse, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep again.  At dawn, he’d rolled out of bed and dressed quickly, then wandered through the settlement looking for work of some kind to keep him occupied.  For the first time in recent memory, his day wasn’t planned and organized ahead of time.  There weren’t people to lead, there wasn’t a mission to complete, no orders to see carried out. 

     He meandered through the settlement looking for work, but everything seemed to involve working with someone else.  How many here knew he was a synth?  He trusted Haylen not to spread the word, and Nora would probably keep it under wraps, but what about Hancock?  Had the rumors spread?  Had Maxson sent out the word on him like he had the other synths?  Was it safe for him to even stay in the Commonwealth at all, much less in one of its biggest settlements?

     He rounded the corner of the common house and stopped.  Nora was standing at one of the workstations, redoing the stitching on a bit of leather armor, talking with a little boy as she worked.

     “…this is what’s called a saddle stitch,” she said, showing him the seams. “It’s really good and strong because it uses two bits of thread together.  See, pull on this piece.”

     The boy grabbed the opposite end of the armor and tugged as instructed.  The seam held and Nora smiled at him.

     “See what I mean?” she asked, “And once you’re done, you burn the ends of the thread so that they don’t start fraying.  Hand me that lighter on the bench, please.”

     The boy fetched the little gold lighter and handed it off, watching carefully as Nora tied off the thread and seared the ends.

     “Where did you learn how to fix armor?” the boy asked, chin resting on little fists.

     “Well, my grandma taught me how to sew when I was about your age,” Nora replied, “And then when I left the vault I picked up other stuff from the people I know.”

     “Like Mr. Garvey?”

     “Yep,” Nora replied, “And your daddy taught me how to use a rifle.  I even learned a little bit about shotguns from Mr. Danse.”

     Danse felt himself flush hot as she turned and smiled at him. “I – sorry, I wasn’t trying to…”

     “Come here and make yourself useful,” she said, beckoning him over to the workbench. “You know anything about leatherworking?"

     “I’m afraid not.”

     “What about the Power Amor?” the boy piped up from beside Nora.  She grinned.

     “Duncan, that is a fantastic idea,” she said, “I’ve got an old suit down at the Red Rocket.  Sturges has been meaning to clean it up some but there’s been too much work around here to worry about it.”

     “If you need me doing something more useful…”

     “It’d be useful to get that suit working,” Nora replied, “The leg joints got all torn to hell the last time I used it but I need it again soon.”

     “Can I come?” Duncan chirped, eyes wide with hope. “Pleeeeease?”

     “Red Rocket’s not really safe yet, kiddo,” Nora said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Why don’t you go over to my place and get the other pieces of armor out of the storage room?  Pile them up right here and you can help me fix them when I get back.”

     Duncan looked crestfallen but nodded and trudged away towards Nora’s house.  She smiled after him and holstered the pistol hanging on a rack above her head.

     “Whose son is he?”

     “MacCready’s,” Nora said, leading the way down the avenue and towards the bridge out of Sanctuary. “The young guy with me when we first met in Cambridge.”

     “You’re good with him.”

     “It’s not hard to have fun with kids when you don’t really have to do the hard part of parenting them,” Nora said, kicking a rock down the road. “If he gets lippy, I can just send him to his dad.”

     She grinned at him but faltered when he didn’t respond right away.  He felt a pang of guilt as she turned away and quickened her pace towards the old filling station.  He didn’t know the full story of her own son, but she masked whatever pain she felt well.

     As Nora fiddled with a ring of keys on her belt, looking for the one that went to a padlock holding the garage door of the Red Rocket closed, Danse looked around the settlement-to-be.  The place had been cleaned up considerably since the Brotherhood had used it as a field base; the rusted cars and guard rails had been removed, the trash swept away, gas pumps ripped out and scrapped.  There was a pile of salvaged lumber nearby and several bags of cement.

     “Come on, you half-melted piece of shit,” Nora muttered, twisting the key in the padlock. “Come on, come on – aha!”

     The lock popped and she threw it aside, rolling the garage door up over her head.  Her shirt lifted momentarily and revealed a few inches of smooth, perfect white skin.  Danse swallowed heavily and looked away.

     “There she is,” Nora said, nodding to the suit of Power Armor parked inside.  It was a fairly standard T-51, steel plated with mismatched arm pieces and a nearly nonexistent paint job. 

     “What did you do to it?” Danse asked, frowning as he bent to inspect the leg joints.  The gears were bent and scorched, wires were loose, and the plating was coming loose in several spots.

     “First I went into the Glowing Sea and fought a herd of radscorpions,” she said, “Then I fell down a cliff over by Tenpines Bluff.”

     “The Glowing Sea?”

     “Yep,” Nora said, without a hint of guile. “One of the fuckers got me right in the side before Hancock could shoot it.  He’s got the stinger mounted in the living room.”

     Danse nodded as she pointed to the jagged little hole torn in the side of the armor, between the chest plate and back plate where the polymer under suit was weakest.

     “Why are you going back there?”

     “I owe someone a favor,” Nora answered, “No rush, but I appreciate whatever you can do to get it in better shape.”

     “Shouldn’t take me too long if I have the right parts,” Danse said, standing and glancing around the garage.

     “Lots of salvaged junk in here,” Nora said, “And up at Sanctuary.  If you can’t find something, let me know and I’ll get it.”

     Danse nodded and Nora gave him another smile before turning to leave.  He hesitated a moment, unsure if he should say everything he wanted to.

     “Nora.”

     “Yeah?”

     “Thank you,” he said at last, courage deflating like a pricked balloon. “For helping me.  And Scribe Haylen.”

     Nora smiled and shrugged. “I was glad to help out,” she said, “No thanks needed.”

     Danse nodded and watched her out of the corner of his eye until she disappeared behind a patch of wild mutfruit bushes.


	63. Blushing

     Haylen fell asleep in the back room of the infirmary with a battered copy of _Massachusetts Surgical Journal_ open on her lap, head pillowed on a rolled-up sleeping bag.  She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she woke to the sound of rattling crates outside the bedroom.  She jumped and scrambled for the little pistol beside the bed, heart thudding as she gripped the cold, unfamiliar metal.  Trying to breathe normally and remind herself that she was still a trained soldier, she padded quickly down the hall and towards the noise.

     “Who is that?”

     She flipped the switch on the wall and flooded the room with bright yellow light that stabbed at her eyes.  The intruder whipped around and she let her gun drop and shoulders sag in relief.

     “Shi – crap, I’m sorry.  Didn’t realize anyone was sleeping here.”

     Haylen sighed heavily. “It’s alright,” she said, “What’s going on?  Is someone hurt?”

     MacCready glanced down at his feet, bare despite the cold, and then back at her with a reassuring shake of his head.

     “I have a bum knee,” he said, “Old injury that acts up sometimes.  Just needed some Med-X.”

     “It’s in a box around here somewhere,” Haylen said with a sigh.  The other doctor in Sanctuary, a sweet woman named Curie, had trekked off to tend to the settlers at a nearby farm, leaving Haylen to take over the infirmary.  Curie was good with medicine, inquisitive, gentle, and ridiculously unorganized. 

     “Don’t worry about it,” MacCready replied, shrugging. “It’s late.  I’ll survive.”

     “Well, you already woke me up, so help me look,” Haylen said, shooting him a quick smile. “Look over there in those boxes.”

     MacCready nodded and began rifling through the boxes as instructed.  Haylen knelt and pulled a crate towards her, sifting through the contents.  Stimpaks, rolls of gauze, bandage scissors with varying degrees of rust, but no Med-X.

     “Found it,” MacCready declared after a few minutes of searching.  Haylen huffed in relief and stood, glad to be off the cold floor.

     “Take two in case you need more,” she said, “Might not be able to find it again.”

     “This is good,” MacCready replied, “I don’t really have a place to keep chems out of my son’s reach, anyway.”

     Haylen nodded. “Understandable.”

     MacCready gave her a hesitant smile as he made for the door. “Thanks again,” he said, waving the syringe.  Standing in the doorway, silhouetted in darkness, he looked taller and leaner than she remembered from their previous encounters.  His eyes were brighter, not clouded with anxiety, hair just slightly neater, the little beard trimmed and combed.  He had a lazy kind of handsomeness about him, a realization that made Haylen flush involuntarily.

     “You’re welcome,” she said, trying hard not to stammer.  There was a tense, awkward pause as MacCready looked past her into the mess of the room.

     “Do you need a hand cleaning this up?”

     “Right now?”

     “Preferably not,” he answered with a hint of a smile, “I meant tomorrow.  Nora usually has me on guard duty but the last time we got raided or attacked was like four months ago.”

     “You don’t have to do that,” Haylen said, shifting from one foot to the other.  She had always fidgeted when nervous.

     “Beats sitting around at the bridge all day,” MacCready replied.  He shrugged and Haylen swallowed against the lump in her throat.

     “See you in the morning.”

     “Goodnight,” Haylen managed to croak out as he wandered out of the infirmary into the darkness of the settlement.

 

     “I thought ‘Lone Wanderer’ was a good nickname,” Haylen argued, scooping up a pile of bandages and dropping them in a box. “Sounds like a superhero.  Kind of was one for the Capital Wastes, don’t you think?”

     “Yeah, but the guy was a certifiable nutcase,” MacCready replied, “And only a Lone Wanderer part-time, really.  Is there a box for these bottles?”

     “If they’re clean, over here,” Haylen said.  She leaned down and pulled a half-full crate from under the new table she’d commandeered, glass bottles clinking and rattling.  Was it just her imagination, or could she feel him looking at her ass?

     “Dusty but clean,” MacCready replied, “By Commonwealth standards, anyway.”

     “Yeah, they can go in here.  I’ll get to sterilizing them eventually.”

     “No time like the present,” MacCready said, “What do you need for that?”

     Haylen grinned at him. “We’ve been working for three hours already,” she said, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were inventing excuses to stick around.”

     “Maybe I am.”

     Haylen’s heart fluttered strangely in a way it hadn’t she was a preteen and the blood rose in her cheeks.  She fiddled with the glass bottles for a moment, trying to think of something to say, when the someone flung the door open in a gust of cold, wet wind.

     “Sorry,” Nora said, slamming it shut again.  She was pink-cheeked and out of breath.

     “Something wrong?”

     “I need an aid kit for the road,” she said, “I don’t mean to interrupt but I’ve got to go in like three minutes and mine is almost empty.”

     “What happened?” MacCready asked, standing to help Nora find what she needed.

     “We got a tip about Bunker Hill,” Nora huffed, still struggling to catch her breath. “One-day head start or it’s going to be a fucking massacre.”

     “Bunker Hill?” Haylen asked, “Is the Brotherhood moving in on it?”

     Nora sighed and her shoulders sagged. “Oh, don’t tell me they know about it, too.”

     “I only heard rumors,” Haylen replied, “It’s supposed to be a waystation for the Railroad.  Elder Maxson wanted to clear it out, but I think it was put on the backburner in favor of taking down the Institute.”

     “Institute seems to think the same thing,” Nora replied, stuffing the medkit MacCready handed her into her pack. “If they go in fists flying like I think they plan to, it’ll be a bloodbath with a lot of civilian casualties.”

     “So, you’re going to run right into the middle of it?” MacCready asked, giving her a look like he knew she was crazy.

     “If I can get there and find the Courser before he starts shooting I can end it before it begins,” she replied, “Haylen, can you be on standby in case they need an extra doctor down there?”

     “Of course, but I think Curie’s closer.”

     “I can’t get a hold of her as easily when she’s going from farm to farm,” Nora said, “And if there are Coursers around, I don’t want any synths in shouting distance in case they decide to start throwing out recall codes.”

     Haylen felt her jaw drop. “Curie’s a synth?”

     Nora stared back for a moment. “Yeah, you didn’t really think I’d managed to find a French female scientist out here that just happened to be named _Curie_ , did you?”

     “Well, um…”

     “She was a Miss Nanny before the war,” Nora replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Transferred her consciousness into a brain-dead synth.”

     “They – they can do that?”

     “I know a doctor who can do anything with a brain,” Nora said, “Stay safe, guys.  Put the alert out on Radio Freedom if you so much as smell a Courser.”

     With that, she left in a second gust of cold and rain.  Haylen heard her shout at someone outside – _Deacon, we don’t have time for a costume change_ – and then silence fell inside the infirmary. 

     “Everything okay?” MacCready asked after a moment.  Haylen pulled her eyes away from the door and shrugged.

     “Yeah,” she said, “Just…seems like every day the world as I thought I knew it changes a bit more.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Well, I didn’t join the Brotherhood for the cool outfits,” Haylen replied, giving him a jaded smile. “I believed everything they said.  And then, Danse…”

     It was easy to tell herself she could look past her Paladin’s true identity because she was biased.  He’d saved her life numerous times, saved others’ lives over and over again.  He hadn’t even _known_ he was a synth, so he had to be different than the rest of them, right?

     But, if Curie was a synth, too, that changed a lot.  How many like her had she helped the Brotherhood destroy in her years as a soldier?

     “You must think I’m a terrible bigot,” Haylen said, sighing and falling into a chair nearby.  She fiddled with one of the boxes of supplies for a moment, unable to look at MacCready.

     “Not really,” he said, “I used to run with the Gunners, so I don’t really have much space to talk, really, about past employment and morals.”

     She hazarded a glance up at him.  He was pulling a cigarette from a battered pack, concentrating carefully for a moment to light it.

     “Besides,” he continued, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “If you live here in Sanctuary, Nora’ll make sure you get used to all kinds eventually.”

     “Honestly, non-feral Ghouls never bothered me much,” Haylen replied, “I just sort of…feel sorry for them.”

     “Well, more than just them,” MacCready said, “She finds every nutcase and freak possible.  When I made my trip down to the Capital Wastes a while ago, Nora replaced me with a reporter, a Super Mutant, and then Hancock.  Haven’t decided yet which was worst.”

     He gave her a sly grin.  Haylen smiled back, feeling the tiniest bit lighter than she had.

     “Those things will ruin your lungs, you know.”

     MacCready glanced at the cigarette clutched between his index and middle finger and shrugged. “So I’ve heard,” he said, “But it’s either these or a bullet, right?”

     “Hopefully neither any time soon.”

     “Are you flirting with again, Haylen?”

     Haylen huffed and looked away.  She was blushing.  _Again._

     “You have a son,” she retorted, trying to sound disinterested. “For his sake, I meant.”

     “Right.”

     “I wasn’t flirting, MacCready.”

     “Call me RJ.”

     Haylen stood and busied herself with sorting unmarked syringes, trying not to belie how much the blue-eyed mercenary flustered her.  She barely even _knew_ him.

     And yet…

     “Then you can call me Sarah,” she said after a moment, turning back around and willing herself to look calm and confident.

     “Pretty name.”

     Haylen swore internally as the heat rose in her cheeks a little more.

                                                                                  


	64. Bunker Hill Massacre

     It was a bloodbath.

     In all the gunfights she had been a part of since leaving Vault 111, Nora had never seen such a sight.  They heard the gunfire from the river and saw the Brotherhood vertibirds approaching; by the time they made it to the old monument, a full-on battle was in progress.  The shit had well and truly hit the fan and Nora didn’t have to look hard to see the civilian casualties she’d feared.

     She tried to make it inside, to the catacombs underneath, without getting caught in the crossfire, but it was impossible.  There was no organization to the fighting, no front line or fire-free zone she could scoot past.  Gen-1 and 2 synths teleported in at random, their ranks peppered with black-coated Coursers; seemingly endless ranks of Brotherhood soldiers poured out of the alleyways and dropped from vertibirds.  Railroad agents, caravan traders, and settlers were caught in the middle, shooting from the outlook posts and the front steps.

     Nora leaned back against a brick wall scarred with bullet holes and reloaded her shotgun.  Her hands shook and her heart was pounding out of her chest.  She could feel warm blood soaking through part of her pant leg and into her boot, but she wasn’t sure whose it was.  She’d lost Hancock and Deacon and was almost certain Dogmeat was gone, too.  She pushed on through barely-contained panic, snapping her shotgun closed and lining up a shot.

     “ _Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!”  This famous line has come to symbolize the determination and fearlessness of the colonial militia against the well-equipped, well-trained British Army, though historians aren’t sure who was first responsible for giving this bit of advice…_

The words came back to her unbidden, learned by rote as she had recited them with fake enthusiasm that summer so long ago before guiding tourists to the next stop on the Freedom Trail.  Mac would have laughed out loud at the idea of letting an enemy get so close before taking the shot.

     She squeezed the trigger as Gen-2 approached.  The shotgun kicked back into her shoulder and the synth stumbled.  Its left arm was missing, leaving behind a gaping hole and a mass of sparking wires.  She fired again and it dropped, scattering bits of plastic and metal across the concrete.

     Blue and red lasers streaked through the darkness, singeing her jacket as she sprinted back towards the settlement walls.  Lungs burning with cold air, she took cover behind a mangled tree trunk, fumbling for the shells in her pocket.  A mini-gun fired a volley of shots that tore into the ground and kicked up clouds of dust, dirt, and dead grass.  Nora ducked down, shoving the shells into her gun, and covered her face from the barrage of debris.  A pack of synths was approaching; she fired into the group and sprinted for the next bit of cover, the rusted shell of an old truck sitting in the road.  She was reloading when the body landed on the pavement next to her with a sickening crunch.  Blood spattered in all directions, painting her jacket and shirt.

     She stared in astonishment at the soldier.  His face had been crushed by his fall but there was a large, perfect hole in his chest through to his back, the edges of his uniform and skin both cauterized.  It was just left of center, obliterating his heart -- a shot too perfect to be from anything but a Courser.  She could smell burning copper and hear the swish and chop of a vertibird overhead.

     “Move, Human!”

     Nora glanced up just as a large green mass grabbed her arm, jerking her upright.  Her shoulder popped audibly and pain tore through her arm and middle as the mass dragged her across the concrete like a child carrying a rag doll.  Seconds later, the vertibird crashed to the ground in front of the spot where she had been hiding.

     Nora sucked in a breath and turned her face away from the mass of flames and burning metal.  She opened her eyes and saw Strong standing beside her.  He was covered in splatters of blood and carrying a bat wrapped in barbed wire, a baseball cap perched on top of his massive, hairless head.

     “Strong?”

     He looked at her and growled. “Stupid human almost crushed,” he admonished, “Weak.”

     Nora struggled to stand up, the arm Strong had grabbed hanging limp and useless at her side.  The fighting was dying down, moving away from the walls of the settlement.  There were no more vertibirds in the air and she could hear someone shouting orders to retreat in the distance.  She could hear the wounded crying into the darkness.

     She tried and failed to move her arm, managing only to send pain lancing into her chest. “Shit, Strong,” she said, “I think you dislocated my shoulder.”

     “What diss-loke-aded?”

     “You almost ripped my damn arm off.”

     “Better than crushed,” Strong retorted with a huff, “Human find doctor here.”

     He waved dismissively in the direction of Bunker Hill.  Nora took a deep breath and hoped the doctor hadn’t gotten caught in the crossfire.

     “Human GO,” Strong said, glaring at her. “No good arm can’t kill enemies.”

     He followed as she trudged towards the settlement, stumbling over debris and bodies, shotgun held upright as best she could with only one arm.  As Strong pushed open the gate for her, she caught sight of Hancock inside, knelt next to a settler clutching a bleeding stomach wound.

     “John,” she called weakly, shuffling towards him as relief flooded her.  He looked up and around, dark eyes landing on her in disbelief.  In a flash of red, he was hugging her, crushing her injured arm in his embrace.  The pain made her knees buckle as a string of curses fell from her lips.

     “Fuck, love, I’m sorry,” Hancock said, falling next to her. “How bad is it?”

     “No bullet holes,” Nora replied, cold sweat dripping down her neck. “Fucked up my shoulder.”

     He nodded and looped an arm under her legs, hoisting her up against his chest with her good arm draped over his shoulders.

     “My legs work fine,” she protested, “And I dropped my gun…”

     “Don’t move,” Hancock replied, depositing her on a mattress inside the obelisk.  Kay, the resident veterinarian/doctor, had established a trauma ward in what was previously the market, handing out Stimpaks and barking orders to anyone who would listen.  Nora leaned against the wall wearily as she watched the flurry of activity, the blood pooling on the stone floor, used bandages and scissors tossed into piles.  The sulfuric stench of gunpowder hung heavily in the air.

     “Good fight,” Strong declared, looking out at a pile of synth bodies. “Kill many robo-men.”

     Nora sighed.  Hancock had retrieved her shotgun and knelt back down in front of her, digging through his bag to pull out a Stimpak.  He offered it to her but Nora shook her head.

     “It’s not that bad,” she said, “I’m not sure it’ll do much good until the bone’s back in place anyway.”

     “I got Med-X, then,” he answered, “Curie gave me a measured dose so you don’t get the full effect.”

     She hesitated a second and then nodded. “Where’s Deacon and Dogmeat?”

     “I don’t know,” Hancock said, not meeting her eyes as he rolled up her sleeve for the injection. “I haven’t seen them since we got separated underground.”

     Nora’s throat felt dry and hot, tears threatening to spill over. “I need to go look for them,” she said, trying to wiggle away from Hancock’s grasp. “If they’re…”

     “You’re not doing anything right now but resting,” he replied, “You can’t even hold your gun properly.  I’ll look for them.  You need to wait and get that arm taken care of.”

     Nora sat back and nodded helplessly.  Hancock kissed her and injected the Med-X, rubbing the site with one calloused thumb.  Just as he stood to leave, Strong grunted loudly and pointed at someone coming up the steps into the settlement.

     “Dog is weak,” he declared, “Let Strong eat dog.”

     Nora squinted and her heart jumped excitedly.  It was Deacon, limping a bit and carrying Dogmeat, who was soaking wet.  Both looked miserable and exhausted but seemed intact.

     “He followed me after we lost you guys,” Deacon explained, setting the shepherd down on the mattress next to Nora. “Took a bullet through and through.  Figured if I didn’t come back with him I might as well not come back at all.”

     He flopped onto the ground as Dogmeat inched towards Nora, whining and shivering.  She let him curl into her side and reached over to Deacon, squeezing his bicep gratefully.  There was a spiderweb crack on one lens of his sunglasses and the beginnings of a bruise on his temple.

     “Did the synths get to safety?”

     “All but one,” Deacon replied without looking at her.  There was an uncharacteristic weariness to his voice.  Nora nodded but didn’t respond.  The Med-X was making her feel groggy and unfocused, unable to keep the threads of her thoughts untangled or watch the activity around her with more than a vacant stare.  After a few minutes, she gave in to the exhaustion overtaking her and closed her eyes.

 

     She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but the odd silence woke her.  She groaned and shifted in place, relieving some of the pressure on her shoulder.

     “Nora, don’t move.”

     She opened her eyes and found herself staring down the dark barrel of an Institute pistol.

     She couldn’t see Deacon but Hancock was behind the Courser, shotgun out and a murderous glare on his face.  Dogmeat growled next to her, unable to stand but bristled and tense.  She looked up and tried not to look scared.  Had the fucker teleported directly in front of where she had fallen asleep?

     “Father would like to see you,” he said after a tense second, “In one hour.  On the roof of the CIT building.”

     He pressed the little button on his coat collar and disappeared in a loud crack of blue light.  Nora felt her stomach bottom out at the sudden loss of adrenaline.  Hancock let his shotgun fall and rushed to her, kneeling and pulling her close.

     “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was helping clean up and then he was right there, I didn’t even see him --”

     “It’s alright,” Nora replied, shaking her head. “I’m alright.”

     He didn’t respond, burying his face against her neck.  She breathed in the familiar smell of his old coat, the smoke and whiskey scent that always calmed her nerves.  Shaun was coming to the surface and he wanted to see her…

     “You sure it isn’t a trap?” Hancock asked, as if he’d read her mind.

     “I don’t know,” Nora answered, “But I have to go up there to him.”

     Hancock nodded and helped her stand. “Let’s get you and Dogmeat fixed up first.”


	65. For Us or Against Us

     Strong went ahead of them, happily smashing his way through the tribe of mutants that had taken up residence inside CIT.  Nora followed once the dust cleared, her injured arm in a sling but back in its socket.  She had her pistol holstered at her hip and her companions following behind, Deacon still hobbling somewhat, Dogmeat with bandages around his middle, Hancock tense as a live wire.

     It wasn’t hard to find the roof entrance; Nora pushed through the heavy door as the rusted hinges wailed in protest and glanced around for Shaun.  She could see him standing a few dozen feet away, hands in his lab coat pockets as he surveyed the ruined city below.  She walked over to him, motioning for her companions to hang back a bit.

     “Hello, Mother.”

     “Shaun.”

     He glanced over at her arm in the sling. “How badly are you injured?”

     “Dislocated shoulder,” she replied, “It’s fixed now, just sore.”

     Shaun nodded, the barest hint of relief in his eyes. “You know, I’ve never once been on the surface,” he said, staring in the direction of the Boston ruins across the river. “In all my years, I never came up here.  I never had a reason to.”

     “What’s your reason now?”

     “I wanted to see it for myself,” Shaun replied.  She followed his gaze over to Strong, to Hancock and Dogmeat, and lastly to Deacon, trying to decipher the emotions behind the brown eyes, but he was as much a stranger as ever.

     “The Commonwealth is dead.  The only hope for humanity is below.”

     Nora sighed. “It’s not so bad, you know,” she said, “Sometimes it royally sucks, but…people manage.”

     “At what cost?”

     She didn’t miss the way his gaze flitted briefly over to Hancock again and felt a hot bubble of anger in her stomach.

     “Looking out on all this makes me grateful I was spared living in this wasteland,” Shaun continued, “I know that to you, I was kidnapped, but --”

     “Not really a ‘but’ about it,” Deacon interrupted.  Nora turned towards him.  He was leaning against a nearby ventilation shaft, arms crossed limply, looking as relaxed as if waiting for an order of Power Noodles.  He met Nora’s eyes briefly over the top of his sunglasses.

     “When you forcibly take an infant from his father’s arms and shoot him in the head when he won’t give his kid up quietly, we speakers of the English language call that ‘murder and kidnapping’.”

     “I call it ‘sick shit’,” Hancock added.  Nora heard the click of his lighter and saw the flare of red in the darkness, briefly illuminating his black eyes.  She looked back at Shaun, who seemed to be studiously trying to ignore her two companions.

     “The Institute rescued me,” Shaun continued, “They saved me.  And you, Mother.”

     “They saved you from the arms of loving parents who would have moved heaven and hell to protect you,” Nora replied, “They saved you so they could experiment on you and build cannon fodder and slaves they could tell themselves weren’t even human.  They left me on ice for sixty years, Shaun, and killed your father, plus eleven other innocent people.”

     “Yes, I know there was collateral damage,” Shaun said, “It’s unfortunate but what is the point of continuing to dwell on the past?  Everything I have done has been for the future of mankind, Mother.”

     Nora sighed and looked down at her feet.  She was angry, disappointed, shocked, disgusted…she was tired.  Tired of hoping the man she’d given birth to would see sense or show the tiniest glimmer of human compassion. 

     “This has to stop, Shaun,” she said, looking back up at the stranger in front of her. “You instigated a battle over what you don’t even consider human beings.  People were killed over your so-called property.”

     Shaun didn’t answer right away.  He locked gazes with her, then glanced back at her companions.

     “This was not what I wanted, Mother,” he said after a moment, “I thought we had a shared vision of the future.”

     “We?” Nora let out a bark of sarcastic laughter and let her anger boil over. “There was a never a ‘we’, Shaun.  From the moment I stepped foot inside the Institute, you used me.  You tried to make me into another Kellogg.”

     “I wanted you to _lead_ the Institute.”

     “Yeah, how would that have panned out once you passed?  That Ayo and his buddies would just sit down and defer to my authority?”

     Shaun shook his head. “Then I guess our positions are clear.”

     “We don’t need to be against each other,” Nora replied, “The only thing I ask is that you stop synth production.  Put your resources into something else and we can all leave each other be.”

     Shaun glanced at her companions again and then back at her. “I can’t do that, Mother,” he said, “We are humanity’s only hope for the future, and if you aren’t with us, you’re against us.”

     Nora looked out onto the city below them.  She could see Kendall Hospital, where Shaun had been born.  There was the overpass where Nate’s brother had wrecked his car.  A boat on the river she might have once ridden with her mother and had dreamed of taking her son on when he was older.  A college he might have attended below their feet, monuments he might have learned about around them, a city he might have once called home.  All of her dreams destroyed and any possibility of salvaging something from them gone.

     “I’m so disappointed in you, Shaun.”

     “Goodbye, Mother.”

 

     Danse was placing the final touches on the suit of Power Armor he’d been fixing when Cait waltzed into the garage and flopped down on a ratty couch nearby.  She didn’t say anything at first, just dropped her bloody bat and tilted her head back, eyes closed.

     “Always enjoy breakin’ some bones, but the walkin’ wears me out,” she muttered after a moment, shaking her head.  Danse wasn’t sure what to say, so he looked back at the wiring he had been working on.  He’d seen Cait, been somewhat introduced to her the day before when he went up to Sanctuary for parts, but they hadn’t talked beyond a few basic pleasantries.  It was becoming clear that Sanctuary was more than a name and he wasn’t the first stray that Nora had picked up.

     “Well, you’re a chatty one, ain’tcha?” Cait said, smirking at him. “Got anything to drink around here?”

     “There’s a cooler in the other room.”

     Cait smiled and disappeared through the door.  Danse listened as she rummaged around and then emerged a minute later with two glasses and a half-full bottle of whiskey.

     “Care for some?”

     “I don’t drink,” Danse replied.  He could see her smirk widen from the corner of his eye.  She twisted the top off the bottle and poured herself a drink, then downed it in one quick shot.  He refocused on the wires in front of him, trying not to think of the last time a curvy redhead had offered him a drink.

     “Too bad,” Cait said, then downed another shot.  She went back to the couch and settled herself in, bottle in hand as she watched him.  Danse tried to focus on his work but found himself barely able to concentrate on what he was doing.

     “So where’d Nora find you?”

     He looked over at her and then away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

     “Brotherhood?”

     He didn’t say anything but Cait smiled at him.

     “Ya’ got ‘soldier’ written all over you but you’re too much of a tight-ass to be a Minuteman.”

     “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     “Nora runs a tight ship and she’s got a soft spot for all this farmin’ bullshit but most of her people at least talk and drink and enjoy themselves now and then.”

     Danse tried not to scowl. “I can enjoy myself without chemical aid.”

     Cait was silent but he could feel her still smirking at him.  He was starting to wonder if _all_ redheads were as infuriating as the two he knew.

     “Mind if I crash here tonight?” Cait asked after a few moments, “Don’t particularly care for the bunkhouse thing we’ve got going on up there.”

     She jerked her head in the direction of Sanctuary.  Danse furrowed his brow and glanced at her cautiously.

     “I only have sleeping bags here.”

     “Are they clean?”

     “Yes.”

     “Then I’m good,” Cait replied, “’Sides, I’ve always enjoyed the aroma of power armor grease and testosterone.”

     Danse blinked at her, unsure of what to say. “It is…pungent,” he managed after a moment.  What was she doing, looking at him like that?  He looked back down at the wiring and realized he hadn’t fixed it at all, only managed to tangle it further.  He sighed to himself and stood, wiping black grease stains off his hands.  He started putting away his tools, knowing he wouldn’t get anything else done with Cait sitting around watching him, when the soft music of Radio Freedom ended suddenly.

     _Attention Minutemen.  Hostiles have been spotted approaching the Castle.  Repeat, hostiles approaching the Castle.  All Minutemen in the area, please respond._


	66. It's Personal Now

     The cannon jerked back with bone-jarring force, sending the six-pound mortar flying through the air with an ominous whistle.  It hit the ground and exploded in a massive cloud of ash, debris, and thick, choking smoke.  Nora felt the force of the explosion ripple through her like a wave, making her teeth chatter and her vision go blurry for a second.

     “That’s the last one!”

     She looked up at Preston and nodded.  The explosion had left behind a least a dozen charred, wrecked synth bodies, but more were still coming.  She loaded a clip into her rifle and took aim, tracking a gen-1’s movements through the scope before firing.  The recoil into her still-healing shoulder made her eyes water, but she pushed aside the pain and took a few more quick shots.

     Less than two weeks after they had argued on the roof of CIT, and her son was already sending his armies into the Commonwealth.  Ronnie Shaw had spotted a Courser near the old high school the morning before, giving them just enough time to shore up the defenses and calibrate the artillery.  They’d managed to hold them off for several hours so far, but they were down by six Minutemen and out of mortars already.

     Just as Nora was loading her last clip into the rifle, Hancock reappeared at her side and handed her a second.

     “Last of the .308s,” he said, “Make ‘em count.”

     Nora nodded and lined up a second shot, doing her best not to hit Strong as he charged into the line of synths, swinging his bat wildly.  He’d taken out quite of few of them already, but they kept coming, wave after wave of them teleported in by the Coursers.  Nora had tried to take out as many of the innocuous black-coated synths as she could, but they were simply too fast for her to keep up with using a rifle.  She desperately wanted to charge into the front line with her shotgun, if only that wasn’t asking to end up with a gaping hole in her midsection.

     A small explosion to the right drew her attention away and Hancock suddenly shoved her into the dirt.  Flaming shrapnel flew overhead as a blue laser took out the last turret.  Nora groaned and coughed on a mouthful of dead grass, her rifle shoved painfully against her ribs.

     “Sorry, love,” Hancock said, rolling off her. “No time for a warning – ah, shit.”

     “What?  What’s wrong?”

     “Tore the coat,” Hancock muttered, examining the tear along one red velvet shoulder with a scowl.

     “If we survive until tomorrow, I’ll fix it for you,” Nora replied with a shake of her head, “Right now we need to get behind the walls.”

     She signaled Preston over the deafening noise of lasers and gunfire, initiating the fall back into the courtyard.  Minutemen scrambled over the rubble of one wall, Nora following and ushering them into the hallways where there was better cover from the burning blue lasers.  Maybe, with whatever tiny bit of luck they had left, they could trap some of the Coursers inside the granite walls…

     “We’ve got company!” Preston yelled over the commotion, pointing north over the Castle walls.  Nora looked up and swore loudly as a Brotherhood vertibird tore through the sky towards them.

     “Get inside, now!”

     She motioned frantically for the Minutemen to take cover, sliding into a dark spot herself just as the vertibird opened fire.  She waited, chest tight, for the sound of bullets slamming into granite, but it never came.  She could hear the minigun revving and shooting, but it wasn’t aimed at them.  Cautiously, she peeked around the edge of the wall.

     “Well, fuck me,” Hancock breathed in her ear, “They’re taking out the synths.”

     The vertibird dropped altitude as the minigun quit and two Brotherhood soldiers in Power Armor jumped out, red lasers battling with blue ones.  Nora jumped out of cover and charged towards the battle, taking a knee in the rubble to aim her rifle.  The synths seemed to be focused on the vertibird and not on the soldiers; before she could shoot him, a Courser aimed his rifle and took out the pilot, shattering the glass windshield and sending the vertibird into a tailspin.  It spiraled the hundred feet or so to the ground, hitting the empty field with the earsplitting screech of twisting metal.  Nora gritted her teeth and aimed at the Courser, who went down in a shower of blood, bone, and brains.

     “Metal men fight good!” she heard Strong yell over the commotion, batting away a gen-1 synth as if it were no more than a mosquito.  He was grinning fiercely, obviously exhilarated by the battle.  Flanked by the Brotherhood soldiers, he charged the synths again.

     Slowly, the synths began to fall back, turning towards south Boston instead of pushing forward.  Minutemen tailed them, laser muskets twanging and rifles cracking.  Both Brotherhood soldiers went down, suits of armor smoking and burnt.  Strong brought his bat down over the last Courser’s head and, after far too long, the last of the synths retreated towards the city and disappeared.

     Nora stood amongst her Minutemen and exhaled heavily, forcing herself to smile as they cheered.  Dogmeat trotted up and pressed his nose to her hand, looking up at her with happy doggy eyes, tongue lolling.  She scratched him absently and let Hancock take her other hand.

     “You did good, love,” he murmured to her, squeezing once.  She leaned into him and sighed.  She didn’t feel like she’d done much, and even if she had, it was a shitty victory – she was officially at war with her own son.

     “Hey, Nora!”

     She turned and saw Deacon standing atop some scaffolding along the one repaired wall, binoculars in hand.  He shook his head and grinned at her.

     “Are you sure we’re not _really_ high right now?” he yelled, “Because I could swear I just saw a pair of Brotherhood soldiers fighting alongside a Super Mutant.”

     “I saw it, too,” she replied, mouth twitching in amusement. “You better get off there, that scaffolding isn’t very sturdy --”

     As if to prove her point, the wooden platform Deacon was standing on cracked loudly.  She heard him swear as he took a step back towards the security of the wall, but before he made it, the whole contraption fell over.  Deacon went down with it, landing on his back in the dirt.

     Nora screeched his name and sprinted across the courtyard, skidding to a stop in front of his prone form.  Heart thudding, she pushed debris off him and dropped to her knees, looking to see if he was injured.  She could hear him gasping short, wheezing breaths.

     “Nora…”

     He grabbed for her shirt and gripped the fabric tight in his fingers, pulling her forward.

     “Deke, are you okay?  Deke!”

     He pulled her closer, lifting his head a fraction to whisper in her ear.  She gulped, heart thudding in her chest.  It’d be just like Deacon to survive the battle without a scratch and then die falling off some construction equipment –

     “Avenge me.”

     “What?”

     She pulled back, confused, as a grin split Deacon’s features.

     “You _ass_!”  She shoved him away and shook her head. “You are a monumental asshole.  I seriously thought you were _dead_ and you’re cracking jokes.”

     “I got you, Boss,” he replied, letting his head fall into the dirt with a groan. “It was a perfect opportunity, couldn’t let it go to waste.”

     “Go to hell.”

     “Only if you come with and keep me company,” Deacon said, holding out a hand for her to help him up.  She rolled her eyes.

     “Someone call Curie to come take care of this idiot,” she said, standing up.

     “Already here, madame,” Curie replied, taking Nora’s place.  She fished a penlight from her pocket and shined it in Deacon’s eyes, peering at him intensely.

     “Are you dizzy?  Vision problems?”

     “No, but have I ever told you how much I like this new look of yours?” Deacon replied, “And people give me a hard time for just swapping out my face.”

     Curie gave him a stern look. “Unlike you, I did not undergo such a procedure on a whim,” she answered curtly, “Now please answer my questions.  They are important.”

     Nora sighed and turned back to the Minutemen. “You guys were amazing,” she said, “Seriously.  Everybody go get some water and food or whatever else you need.  You’ve more than earned it.”

 

     It was almost sundown when Nora found Preston sitting by one of the artillery pieces, gun abandoned in the grass with his hat.  He was holding a cigarette between two fingers but not smoking it, instead letting it burn down to ash.  There were several more stubs littering the concrete underfoot.  He was hunched over a crumpled letter.  At first glance, it looked like he was reading, but his eyes weren’t moving, just staring into space.

     “What’s bothering you?”

     He looked up and shrugged, refolding the letter and stuffing it into the front of his coat. “It’s nothing,” he said, “Just a letter from Lucy.”

     Nora nodded and sat down next to him, folding her arms against her for warmth. “You know, I’m not just your general,” she said, “I’m your friend, too.”

     He glanced over and gave her a wry smile. “Yeah.”

     “So what’s up?” Nora asked, “Spill your guts, Pres.  I know when something’s wrong.”

     He sighed and pulled the letter back out, unfolding it and skimming across the contents.  Nora waited in silence as their breaths ghosted in front of them in the dark air.  After a few long minutes, Preston finally spoke.

     “Lucy’s pregnant.”

     Nora turned and grinned at him. “Preston, that’s awesome!” she exclaimed, squeezing his arm. “What the hell are you so glum about?”

     “It’s…unexpected.”

     “Well, how it happens is actually quite simple,” Nora replied, “If you need me to explain it, I can…”

     “Running with Deacon and Hancock has made you into an even bigger smart ass,” Preston shot back, rubbing at his face. “What I mean is, it’s kind of terrifying.”

     Nora smiled and squeezed his shoulder again. “I know,” she said, “Trust me, I totally get it.”

     “I just…what if…”

     Nora looked out over the field beyond the Castle walls and nodded. “What if you don’t come home,” she said, “Or what if you do and you bring the war home with you.  What if you’re a shit parent who can’t get used to holding an infant and not a rifle.”

     “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

     “Nate said the same things to me when I was pregnant,” Nora replied, “Shaun was unexpected, too, a souvenir from Nate’s furlough.  He was on the front lines while I was pregnant.”

     Preston sighed. “I don’t want her to be alone, but being here is important, too.”

     “No one would think any less of you if you swapped places with Ronnie and stayed here at the Castle when we go into the Institute.”

     “I don’t want to stay behind.”

     “I understand,” Nora said, “But the option is there.”

     “The Commonwealth has always been my home,” Preston said, “I know this fight with the Institute is personal for you, Nora, but if I’m going to have a family soon, it’s personal for me, too.”

     Nora nodded.  “Don’t stay out here and brood, okay?  Get some sleep.  Once your little MinuteKid comes it’ll be in short supply.”

     She gave him another smile and he leaned over suddenly and folded her into a hug.

     “You’ll be Aunt Nora, right?”

     “Of course,” she replied, hugging him back. “At this rate, every kid in Sanctuary is going to call me that.”


	67. Distraction and Obsession

     “Lying down on the job, are we?”

     Nora jerked up off the desk, scattering papers and knocking over a box of Mentats.  She glanced around wildly and breathed a short sigh of relief when she saw Nick Valentine standing in the doorway.

     “I was up all night,” she retorted, “What’re you doing here?”

     “Heard you guys had a visit from the Institute,” Nick replied, bending to help her gather up the papers from her desk. “Thought we’d come and offer some assistance.”

     “We?”

     Nick nodded towards the door just as Piper came through and waved cheerily.

     “If the Minutemen really are planning on taking on the Institute, then I need to be here,” she said, “This’ll be the biggest story of my life, you think I’m going to miss it?”

     “Who told you…?”

     “MacCready,” Piper replied, “Showed up in Diamond City two days ago with a whole entourage, said you’d asked him to bring Sturges down here.  You’re not sneaky, Blue.”

     “An entourage?” Nora repeated, lifting her eyebrows.

     “Yeah, everyone’s here,” Nick answered, “It’s like a big, happy reunion out there.”

     He led Nora through the hallways to the courtyard.  She froze on the steps and looked out, jaw a little slack at the scene before her.  Hancock and MacCready were nearby, shrouded in cigarette smoke as they conversed.  Curie and Haylen were chatting as they removed crates from a caravan cart.  Deacon looked like he was chatting up Cait while Strong paced along the perimeter.  Preston was surrounded by recruits, as usual, while Danse sat off by himself and gave Dogmeat a vigorous ear-scratching.  She could see Sturges inspecting the radio tower with Ronnie Shaw standing vigilant nearby. 

     “Miss Nora, so wonderful to see you again!”

     She jumped as Codsworth came zooming up, mechanical arms flailing excitedly.

     “It’s quite a sight to see old Fort Independence back in commission,” he continued, “You’ve done splendidly, ma’am!”

     “What – what are you guys doing here?” Nora asked, swallowing hard and raking a hand through her hair.  She’d fallen asleep at the desk sometime between three and four in the morning, head pillowed on inventory lists and settlement reports, and slept fitfully until whatever time it was now.  She was foggy with fatigue and disbelief, head spinning a little as her mass of friends and companions gathered together nearby.

     “Ya’ ain’t gonna head into the best fight of the century by yourself,” Cait declared, crossing her arms and giving Nora a look.

     “Going to smash more robo-men,” Strong added, looming over the rest of the group.

     “What they said,” Deacon answered with a smile.  Nora rubbed her forehead and shot MacCready a look.

     “Mac, you were supposed to keep this under wraps,” she said, “And bring just Sturges, not half of the Commonwealth.”

     “Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” MacCready shot back, “Cait was the one eavesdropping on the radio.”

     Cait made a rude gesture in his direction and Piper stifled a giggle.  Nora shook her head.

     “This isn’t going to be a regular fight,” she said, “This is the Institute, they’re not going to go down easy.  They murder and kidnap and do it all under the guise of advancing humanity.  They have everything to lose and think nothing of the Commonwealth.  They won’t hesitate to…”

     “Is this the same Institute that massacred innocent settlers from the Commonwealth Provisional Government?” Preston interrupted.  Nora bit her lip in frustration.

     “The same one that wiped University Point off the map?”

     “And murdered and replaced Mayor McDonough?”

     “Tinkered with your friend’s head and then tossed me in the garbage when I wasn’t useful anymore?” Nick asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

     Nora sighed.  All valid arguments, but…

     “Ma’am,” Codsworth said gently, “What I think your friends – and myself – are trying to say is that this is all our home.  We want the threat of the Institute gone just as much as you do.”

     “Everyone came of their own free will,” Hancock added, “Institute’s big enough that I think we can all take a few shots at ‘em.”

     Nora felt her throat tighten and she exhaled heavily. “I don’t even know how we’re going to take them on yet,” she said, “We’ve got no way in and we’re low on supplies…”

     “I think I may have found our way in,” Sturges piped up, pushing through the group of people.  He was carrying a roll of paper that he waved at her with a smile.

     “That holotape on it had a map of the whole complex,” he continued, “And I found some old tunnels into the Commonwealth.”

 

     Nora stared at the giant map tacked to the wall, arms crossed over her chest as she chewed her lip nervously.  The plan was simple in theory – sneak into the Institute via the underground tunnels near Ticonderoga, reprogram the Relay to bring in everyone else, plant the charge on the reactor, and then head out.  Blow up the whole complex from the center and be rid of the Institute forever.

     There was only the small matter of trying to evacuate all the civilians inside.  And getting to the reactor through God only knew how many more hordes of synths.  Leaving her son to die in the explosion.  Possibly turning all of Cambridge into the Commonwealth’s second-largest radioactive crater.

     That’d be _great_ for the crops.

     Nora raked a hand through her hair and sighed.  There were so many details to iron out.  So many little things to be done, supplies to be purchased, Minutemen to be organized.  She needed to inform Elder Maxson of his soldiers’ help in driving back the Institute attack and give him the holotags she’d retrieved from their bodies.  She had to reassure Desdemona she wasn’t going to forget the synths and beg for the Railroad’s help.

     “How long ya’ gonna stand there and obsess?”

     Nora looked away from the map and at her dark-eyed ghoul. “I’m not obsessing.  I’m just thinking.”

     “Obsessively.”

     “Well, this is the sort of thing people should obsess over,” she replied peevishly, “It’s not exactly a simple decision, you know, initiating a massive nuclear explosion.”

     Hancock didn’t reply, just wrapped an arm around her waist and gently guided her out of the conference room to the courtyard.  Her friends and Minutemen were mingling together, most gathered in a circle, cheering and yelling at two people in the center.  She couldn’t see what was going on, but it seemed like everyone was having a good time.

     “Cait initiated an arm-wrestling competition,” Hancock informed her, “She’s beaten every contender except Strong and Ronnie Shaw so far.”

     Nora shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

     “She’s a tough little shit, that’s for sure.”

     “I didn’t mean Cait,” Nora replied, “I meant…”

     She fumbled for the words but came up empty.  Hancock had been right; she was starting to obsess and it was making her incoherent.

     “I know,” he said after a moment, pulling her closer. “Come on upstairs with me.”

 

     Ten minutes later, the two of them were settled at the top of the Castle walls, facing out on the dark water.  Nora could hear the cheering and chatter in the courtyard, but it was distant and muted by the wind and the gentle waves below.  Hancock had borrowed a pair of chairs for them to settle into, a lantern at their feet turned down low, and then made sure Nora tucked was in underneath a heavy wool blanket.

     “Aren’t you cold?”

     “Nah,” he said, pushing his chair closer to her. “Always liked the cold.  Here.”

     He handed her a Jet inhaler.  Nora looked down at it dubiously.

     “Is this really a good idea, considering my history?”

     “Your favorite ghoul’s here to keep you from OD’ing,” he replied with a smile, “You need to slow down for a few minutes, Sunshine.”

     She hesitated and then nodded.  As the Jet flooded her system, she slid deeper into the chair, pulling the blanket up around her ears.  It was scratchy and musty, but between it and the chemicals in her bloodstream, she couldn’t help but feel warm, relaxed, chatty.

     “I don’t get how they can continue on as if nothing is wrong,” she said after a moment, eyes closed. “It’s one thing to chase down Raiders and ferals and mutants every other day, but this – this could result in every last one of us dead on the ground.  But they’re arm wrestling.”

     “I think you’ve been doing enough worrying for all of us.”

     “I’m making up for lost time,” she continued, opening her eyes.  The stars winked at her, large and shiny in the dark sky, moonlight glittering on the water.  She could smell the saltwater and Mirelurks and the burning oil of the lantern, feel her pulse in her neck and the familiar warmth of her leather boots.

     “What d’ya mean?”

     “I wasn’t prepared before,” Nora replied, “Everyone else saw the nuclear apocalypse coming a mile away and I just…ignored it.”

     “Sunshine, I doubt you were the only one blindsided by it.”

     “I wasn’t blindsided,” she argued, shaking her head. “Nate knew it was coming.  I knew it was coming.  Everyone did.  It was all falling apart.  Food riots, internment camps, military checkpoints, gas shortages.  Did I ever tell you why I became a lawyer?”

     Hancock shook his head.  Nora smiled ruefully into the darkness.

     “I was nineteen,” she said, “I was going to be a prima ballerina.  Nate was going to be a doctor.  We were going to get married in the fall.  I was going to rehearsal one morning and the school had been shut down.  Windows boarded up, doors chained, the works.  A few days later I saw my ballet mistress on the news – she was half-Chinese and they accused her of being a communist sympathizer.  Arrested her and locked her up without even mentioning a trial.  I decided I wanted to go to law school so I could be a human rights activist.  I wanted to help people who were being mistreated by the government, maybe get into politics and change things for the better.”

     “I have a hard time envisioning you as a politician.”

     “When I got accepted into law school, I wanted to be a federal judge,” Nora continued, smirking at him. “Not overnight, of course.  I knew it’d take time.  I had a plan.  Nate and I were going to go down to D.C..  His grades were good enough that he could get a residency anywhere.  I specialized in constitutional law, so I could be an intern with a senator or in the White House or maybe even the Supreme Court.  Work my way up, influence people, enact some small measure of change.”

     “What happened?”

     “Nate got drafted six months before graduation.  We were already married and I wasn’t allowed to leave the state unless the military changed his orders or something.  So I ended up on the bottom rung of an overworked District Attorney’s office, in this shitty windowless office, working seven days a week because I had nothing better to do.  I tried to fight Nate’s draft orders – legally – and they threatened us.  Called me un-American and blacklisted me for any legislative work.”

     She sighed and hugged the blanket closer to her.  The Jet was beginning to wear off, making her sleepy.  Hancock took her hand and squeezed.

     “I was afraid.  Overworked.  Alone.  I didn’t have any friends when I started work at the DA’s office.  Then I met Nick and won a few cases.  I started to feel like I had a purpose again.  Nate wasn’t home much at all for four years – a few weeks at a time, usually.  Each time he came home, he was more and more paranoid.  He scared me.  He had headaches and nightmares and he made me make this promise that if he died in the field, I’d remarry eventually and live the life we’d originally wanted to.  Things at home started going downhill…and then we took back Anchorage.  Suddenly, there wasn’t a gas shortage anymore.  There were fewer food riots.  Eddie Winter disappeared, Nate came home and started talking about going to therapy and maybe working with other veterans.  They had all these big parades in the city and suddenly I wasn’t some blacklisted loner.  I was the wife of a war hero, I owned a pretty little house in the suburbs, I had a healthy baby boy, a track record of putting away dangerous criminals.  We could afford a place in the Vaults.

     “I let myself get distracted, John.  Distracted by fear and then the illusion that it was getting better.  I buried my head in the sand and acted surprised when the bombs dropped, while simultaneously walking straight into another trap.  I stopped thinking about the big picture and I lost everything.  So many more people are depending on me to fix things now.  I can’t _not_ obsess and risk that again.”


	68. Kill It

     “It doesn’t look too deep,” Haylen said, examining the gash on MacCready’s forearm. “A Stimpak will take care of it.”

     “Don’t waste a stim on it,” he replied with a shake of his head, “I’ll just wrap it up.”

     “Then it needs stitches,” she said, “Here, put some more pressure on it.”

     She pressed the old cloth bandage tighter against his skin and went to gather up her tools as MacCready sulked in his chair.  She was halfway done when Preston came in with a caravaner’s crate full of new supplies.

     “What happened?”

     “ _General Wilson_ tried to shank me,” MacCready replied acidly, “That damned switchblade she keeps in her belt.”

     “You surprised her, RJ,” Haylen chided.  MacCready scowled as Preston raised an eyebrow at him.

     “I went to let her know that the caravan had arrived,” MacCready explained, “She’d fallen asleep at her desk so I went to shake her and she jumped up and cut me.”

     “Uh, yeah,” Preston said, clearing his throat. “First rule is not to surprise her.  Good reflexes.”

     “She was _asleep_ ,” MacCready argued, tensing a bit as Haylen pulled the last stitch tight. 

     “There,” she said and snipped off the thread, “Next time just bang on the door really loud, yeah?”

 

     Hancock glanced over at Nora in the low light of their room and tried to think of something to say.  Since the synths had attacked the Castle, she’d been tense.  Understandable.  But with just hours to go until they left, she was wound dangerously tight.  She’d finished three separate reviews of the Castle’s defenses, stated and restated everyone’s marching orders, and stared at the map on the wall for close to an hour.  Her bag was packed and her gun cleaned and loaded.  She’d parked herself at her desk, staring down at the settlement reports as she tapped a pencil on the wood.

     “Sunshine.”

     She grunted in response, eyes still fixed on the reports and pencil tapping.

     “Nora.”

     “What.”

     “You should get some sleep.  It’s almost midnight.”

     “I napped earlier.”

     Hancock rolled his eyes.  He’d heard how _that_ ended.

     “Doesn’t hurt to get a few extra hours.”

     “I’m fine.”

     He held in a sigh and rubbed his eyes.  He could feel the tension radiating off her, had felt it for days. She was past the point of normal and to the point where she was going to do something stupid, make a mistake and get herself killed.  He knew she wasn’t using again, but she might as well have been for the way her pencil tapped and her leg jumped and her posture had not eased a centimeter in three days.

     “Something on your mind?”

     The pencil-tapping paused briefly. “No.”

     “Ya’ sure about that?”

     “I know my own mind, John,” she replied, shooting him a dark look.  She turned back to her desk and resumed tapping the pencil.  The noise was starting to drive him insane, as if she were tapping the damn thing on his brain.  He stood and walked over to her, placing a hand over hers and pushing away the settlement reports.  She pulled back and scowled at him.

     “I don’t want to talk.”

     “But you need to.”

     “No, I don’t,” she snapped, “I don’t need to and I don’t want to.”

     “Nora.”

     She pushed her chair back and stood, knocking it to the floor with an echoing clatter. “What the fuck do you wantme to say, John?” she snarled at him, “It took me almost a year to find my son.  I took over a Castle and raised a militia so I could protect him when I got him home.  I damn-near fucking died more than once doing it.  I don’t even recognize myself anymore.  And for what?  All to have to go in and _kill my own child_ because if I don’t, he’ll kill me and everyone else first.  The one fucking thing I had left to live for in this godforsaken wasteland and I have to kill it.”

     Her words seemed to pierce straight through his chest as surely as if she’d stabbed him.  He gaped at her for a second before she turned and kicked the chair, sending it flying into the wall.  It shattered and fell to the floor in a heap of splintered wood.  Her fists clenched and unclenched and for a moment he thought she was going to continue her tirade.  He might have actually welcomed it, but after a long moment of silence, she looked back at him.

     “Nora, don’t do that,” he said, reaching for her. “Don’t shut down.  Please.”

     She met his gaze for a moment.  Her gray eyes, always bright like polished steel, were flat, dull, expressionless.  She’d taken her pain and shoved it away again, pushed it somewhere out of sight so she didn’t have to deal with it.  He’d once drowned his pain with a glowing green vial and a needle; she simply refused to acknowledge hers’.

     Before he could say anything, she turned and left, leaving the door hanging open as she disappeared into the dark hallway.

 

     They left at sunrise, just the two of them, trekking out from the Castle with the bare minimum of supplies.  Neither of them said anything as they walked, skirting the known Raider and Super Mutant hang-outs to conserve ammo.  It took them most of the day, but it was still sunny when they made it to Ticonderoga.  Nora strode past the old safehouse without looking at it; they’d recently gotten news from Deacon that it had been discovered and wiped out.

     “Sturges said the pipe access is right around here,” she said, leading him up to the water’s edge. “Probably submerged because I’ve got shit for luck.”

     She sat, legs dangling over the concrete walkway, and began sorting through her pack.  The switchblade and pistol came out, along with an extra container of ammo, two Stimpaks, and a bottle of Rad-X.  She popped one of the white pills and washed it down with some water from her canteen.  Hancock did the same with his own supplies and they both left anything extra in a nearby mailbox marked with a rail sign.  As she was undoing her bootlaces, Hancock sat down and laid a hand on her shoulder.

     “Sunshine.”

     She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “John, we haven’t got time…”

     “We’ll make time,” he said firmly, “Just listen for a sec, okay?”

     A moment’s hesitation and then she nodded. “Okay.”

     “I know you’re hurting,” he said, “I can’t empathize, really…but you don’t have to go through all this alone.”

     She looked over at him.  She didn’t say anything, reaching up to touch his hand on her shoulder.

     “It’s not fair,” he continued, unsure if she was listening or just humoring him. “It’s a damn shame that a woman as amazing as you doesn’t get to be a mom.  That you’ve gotta do _this_.  I wouldn’t wish this on the biggest dick in the Brotherhood.”

     “John…”

     “Please shut up and let me finish,” Hancock replied, flashing back briefly to when she’d said the same to him, not far away in the upper floors of Ticonderoga. “I get that it sucks and it seems like the end of the line.  Maybe it is for us.”

     “Us?”

     “I’m not leaving the Institute without you,” he said firmly, “If you don’t make it out, I don’t make it out.”

     “What about Goodneighbor?”

     “I trust Fahrenheit to keep it from turning into another cesspool.  She’s probably better suited for it than I am, anyway.”

     “They’ll miss you,” Nora replied, her features softening the tiniest bit. “You’re their hero, John.”

     “And you’re a hero to the Minutemen,” he countered, “Both of us have probably got more to come home to than we’ll admit.  Doesn’t matter either way, because the only person I want or need is sitting here with me.”

     She nodded and let him squeeze her shoulder.  He leaned in to kiss her, lingering for a moment and soaking up the feel of her lips, the tension in her shoulders, the way her long hair ghosted over his jaw.

     “Come on, love,” he said once they broke apart, “Let’s get this freakshow on the road.”


	69. Mushroom Cloud

     _If I’m a general, then where’s my army?_

     Nora thought back to that night with Preston, in an abandoned building outside of Bunker Hill, as she waited for the holotape to reprogram the Relay.  The memory was sharp and clear, she and her new friend lying side by side on musty sleeping bags and staring up into the cold night sky.  She’d seen the stars clearer than ever on that night and wished she could show them to Shaun one day.  She should have pointed them out on the roof of CIT.

     Preston came through the Relay first, followed shortly by Minutemen and companions in small groups.  Most stood unsteady on their feet, reeling from the disorientation.  Sturges came last, wide-eyed and pale but grinning.

     “Hell of a ride, huh?”

     “It gets easier the more you do it,” Nora replied over the sound of Piper retching into a nearby mop bucket.

     “I think in the future we should stick to walking, Blue,” Piper said weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “That box of Sugar Bombs was a _really_ bad idea.”

     “Everybody take a moment to get your bearings,” Preston ordered, “Weapons at the ready in five.”

     He handed Nora the bag of dry clothes she’d left with him at the Castle and she smiled gratefully.  Out of sight around the corner, she changed quickly, peeling off the soaked and grimy Vault suit and kicking it away.  Inside the bag was the Minutemen General’s uniform she’d left stashed under her bed at the Castle, complete with the leather tricorn.  She slipped into it and fingered the gold cuff buttons and the stars at her collar.  Somehow, it fit almost perfectly.

     “Preston, this is not what I packed.”

     He looked up at her and smiled.  Beside him, Hancock nodded approvingly.

     “No, but I thought this was appropriate,” he said, “The clothes make the person, right?  And everyone needs a good hat.”

     “Amen, brother,” Hancock agreed, clapping Preston on the shoulder.

     “Who altered it?”

     “Deacon took it to one of your friends in the Railroad.”

     She glanced over at the spy, who widened his eyes at her in mock innocence.

     “I’m just going to assume you _guessed_ my basic measurements and got really lucky.”

     “Boss, I have the utmost respect for you as a leader and a woman,” he replied, “A sexy woman with wonderful endow --”

     “Deacon, if you value having your tongue attached to your mouth, you’ll shut up now,” Hancock warned him.

     “Perhaps we should get moving,” Nick spoke up, always the voice of reason. “I think everyone’s got their land legs back.”

     Nora nodded in agreement. “Sturges, are you good from here?”

     He gave a loose salute over the top of the computer consoles he’d parked himself in front of. “All good here, General.”

     “Alright,” she said, “Let’s move.”

 

     It took less time than expected to make it through the back tunnels and into the main Atrium.  The first Minuteman went down inside the Bioscience lab, torn apart by a roaming synth gorilla.  Another was shot nearly point blank by a Courser, her body falling into the clear fountains with an audible splash.  The synths didn’t outnumber them as significantly as they had at the Castle, but there was very little good cover in the Atrium and only Nora was familiar with its layout.

     When the last synth had been dispatched, the Atrium fell silent.  Nora slid down the wall to sit on the cold floor, breathing heavily, shotgun across her lap.

     “Are you alright, ma’am?”

     “Yeah, Codsworth,” she said, “Just…out of breath.”

     “You haven’t been injured?”

     Nora shook her head as an Sturges’s voice buzzed out of the facility intercom.

     “The reactor’s not far down,” he said, “Through the…SRB?”

     Everyone looked over at her.  She nodded her head to the left, indicating the entrance, barred and locked.

     “We can’t get in, Sturges,” she called loudly, unsure if he could hear her.

     “I can’t override the facility lockdown from here,” he replied, “That’ll have to be done from the Director’s terminal.  Do you know where that is?”

     Nora’s stomach dropped.  She closed her eyes and pressed her knuckles to her forehead, struggling to maintain composure.

     “General?”

     “Yeah,” she called back, “I know where to go.”

     “It should be simple to set the override,” Sturges said, “As long as you can get into the terminal.”

     “I’ll holler if I have any problems,” Nora replied, “Evacuation tunnels are still open, right?”

     “Open and being used by someone.”

     Nora nodded and stood, gripping her shotgun to keep her hands from shaking.  Hancock came up as she took a deep breath.

     “Want company?”

     She nodded furiously. “Please.”

     He touched her shoulder briefly, lightly, and let her lead the way up the stairs to Shaun’s quarters.

 

     The halls were deserted, devoid of the usual quiet bustle Nora had always seen inside the Institute.  Their footsteps echoed eerily against the metal walls; she hoped the silence meant that everyone had heeded the evacuation order.  When she got to the sliding doors marked “Director”, she hesitated a moment, heart seizing painfully as her stomach completed an elaborate series of gymnastics moves.  She bit her lip hard and pressed the button to open the door.

     Shaun was alone.  She knew he wouldn’t evacuate.

     “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

     Nora walked towards him, stopping at the foot of the bed.  He looked paler and thinner than he had at CIT.

     “Come to see the reactor, have you?” he continued, forehead wrinkling as his expression hardened. “We managed to get it working without your help.”

     Nora swallowed hard.  Her throat was dry and tight, hands shaking, physical pain spreading through her chest.  He was a stranger to her, but this was still Shaun, still her baby, her flesh and blood.  She’d carried him, delivered him, nursed him, and loved him endlessly.

     “I’m sorry that it’s come to this, Shaun,” she said after a moment, voice raspy. “But I have to put an end to this.”

     “You’re just going to destroy it all?” he asked, looking away from her. “Two centuries of work.  _My_ work.”

     “I know.  But it can’t continue.”

     He glanced back at her and sighed. “Then what did you come here for?  To gloat?”

     His words were cold, vindictive, forcing the knife deeper through her.  Could he really think that little of her?

     “I need to get into your terminal,” she said, “Please, Shaun.  No one else needs to die.  I know you can shut down the synths from there.”

     He sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” he said, “The password is in my desk.”

     “I got it, love,” Hancock said behind her, and Nora nodded gratefully.  As he was clicking around on the terminal, Shaun looked at her with his eyebrows knitted together.

     “You’re really going to ruin humanity’s best hope for the future, are you?”

     “It can’t continue,” Nora repeated, “I gave you a chance and now I’m making a choice, for better or worse.”

     Shaun sighed and looked away, staring through the windows as if he could see something she couldn’t.  She placed a hand on his, the first and only time she had ever touched him after the vault. His hands were cold and dry and he pulled away from her almost immediately.

     “Just…leave.  Get out.”

 

     She could see most of Boston below, the press of the city thinning north of the river into Cambridge and Charlestown.  Broken, rusted buildings.  Empty homes.  Raiders and mutants.  The ground shook with an ominous roar as the debris and smoke bloomed upward.  She could smell it, the burning stench of radiation.  The heat, the force…only this time she was safe.  Outside the blast radius, away from the fallout.  With people she knew and trusted, able to go back to her home as soon as she wanted.

     She closed her eyes for a moment and let the heat press into her.  She’d done it.  She’d destroyed the Institute and made the world at least a little safer.

     She’d murdered her son.

     There was no turning back.  It was done.  He was smoke and ash and she’d never have him back.

     “Mom?”

     She opened her eyes and looked down at the little synth boy.  She hadn’t seen the kid since the day she first walked into the Institute.  She hadn’t thought of him at all, had never expected him to come running up to her, hug her around the waist, and beg to go with her.

     “Are you okay, Mom?”

     Nora looked back out on the city.  The mushroom cloud was dissipating, leaving the city shrouded in ash and smoke as it receded.  Was she okay?

     _Good question, kid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It ain't over until the fat lady sings...or, until everyone makes it back to Sanctuary. So stay tuned for 2-3 more chapters!


	70. What Family Looks Like

     Even as a group, with a child in tow, the trip back to the Castle didn’t take long.  The city was eerily quiet, unpopulated by the usual infestations of bugs, mutants, and raiders, as if the nearby explosion had scared them all off.  Nora kept her Pip-Boy tuned to Radio Freedom, though so far there was no news on any Institute survivors.  Three hours had passed between issuing the evacuation order inside the facility and the actual detonation – hopefully, long enough for as many people as possible to get out.

     They were greeted at the Castle by a cheering crowd of Minutemen.  Hats were thrown, blank rounds fired, lots of congratulations and back-slaps passed around.  Nora accepted them with a smile, but Hancock could see the hollowness behind it.  If anyone else did, they didn’t mention it.

     Shaun had latched onto her, walking with his hand in hers, asking the occasional question, seemingly oblivious to her uncharacteristic quietness.  She didn’t push him away, but the way she interacted with him was detached and formal.  He had thought at first that maybe she was in shock, like he had been the day they discovered his brother’s replacement, but she just looked…empty.  Like some vital part of who she was had been lopped off and she was simply going through the motions.

     An informal celebration took place that evening inside the Castle.  The courtyard came alive with strings of electric lights and cooking fires and the smell of fried Brahmin and radstag permeated the air.  Diamond City Radio and Radio Freedom intermingled, drowned out occasionally by whooping laughter.  Even Danse tried to participate, sitting less than fifty feet from the main group with a dark bottle in hand, engaged in some sort of conversation with a young Minuteman.  Hancock himself had never been one to sit out a party, even a clean one, but tonight he couldn’t bring himself to do much.  Nora slipped away after eating while he had his back turned, quick and silent.

     “Hey, Mr. Hancock.”

     He shook off his thoughts and looked down at Shaun.  The boy was carrying a skewer stick of meat, his new shirt already sporting a tato stain.  He was looking at Hancock through squinted eyes, the same way Nora did sometimes.

     “What’s up, kid?”

     “You love my mom, right?”

     Hancock paused for a second.  Where was this line of questioning going?

     “I saw you kissing her last night,” Shaun informed him, “So that means you love her, right?”

     “I do love her,” Hancock replied, “Very much.”

     Shaun nodded thoughtfully and chewed on his skewer for a moment.  Hancock waited for him to say something, squelching a weird anxiety, like he was being interrogated by a girlfriend’s family about his intentions.  The closest he’d ever come to that was Preston once promising to gut him if he let anything happen to Nora.

     “I know she’s really sad about the Institute,” Shaun said, “Why did she blow it up if she didn’t want to?”

     “Because they were hurting people,” Hancock answered, “Had to be done.”

     “That’s too bad.”

     “Yeah.”

     “You should talk to Mom,” Shaun declared after a few moments of silence, “I gave her this holotape that Father told me to give her and I think it made her sadder.”

     “I don’t think she wants to talk much right now, kid.”

     “She might like your company.”

     Shaun shrugged and went back to his skewer, polishing it off and then licking his fingers clean.  After a few minutes, he glanced sideways and met Hancock’s gaze.  He didn’t look a thing like Nora – his hair was dark, almost black, his eyes wide and warm brown with a smattering of freckles beneath, his jaw and nose heavier despite his youth.  He did, however, mimic her mannerisms to a T, down to the intense, knowing gaze.  How the Institute had supposedly programmed _that_ was a mystery.

     “Where did she go?”

     “That way,” Shaun answered, pointing in the direction of the general’s quarters.

     “Stick to the courtyard, kid,” Hancock replied, “Don’t wander.”

     “See you!” Shaun yelled with a wave as he hurried off in the direction of the food.

 

     The door to the room was closed firmly; Hancock knocked and waited a moment.

     “Yeah.”

     Nora was sitting on the floor beside the bed, cross-legged, a book open on the floor in front of her.  There was a crinkled photo resting on the pages.  She didn’t say anything as he slid down next to her, just kept staring at the photo.  It was one that he’d seen a few times before; she kept it in her books or nestled inside her armor on the road.  It had begun to fade a little, the edges soft with wear and one corner bent.

     In the photo, Nora was sitting on her old couch, holding baby Shaun out in front of her.  The photograph had been taken from the side, but he could see her grin clearly.  She had Shaun’s head cradled protectively in one hand, his diapered butt in the other, looking down at him as though she had never seen anything so wonderful.  Shaun stared back with bleary newborn eyes, fists raised towards her.

     “Nate took this the day we brought him home,” she said, fingering the edge of the picture. “My grandmother knitted that hat for him.  There was a matching blanket that I had him wrapped in when we went into the Vault.  Long gone now, I guess.”

     Hancock wasn’t sure what to say, so he just nodded stupidly.  Nora took a shaky breath and closed her eyes, gripping a page from her book so hard it began to tear.  He tensed, waiting for another angry outburst, but it never came.  Instead, she put her hands to her face and let out an anguished wail, a sound that echoed on the stone walls and ripped him right open.

     “Come here, Sunshine,” he whispered, putting his arm around her shaking shoulders.  She was sobbing, tears coming in hitches and cries.  He had seen lots of tears in his time, from silent weeping to pathetic blubbering, but nothing quite like hers.  Nothing so desperate and painful, like each tear just made the pain worse instead of helping her let it go.

     She leaned into him, trembling, face pressed into his coat as she cried.  She didn’t like people seeing her let go like this, even him, but it was as if a dam had finally broken and there was no holding everything back.  Probably a good thing, even if hearing her made his heart wrench – couldn’t be healthy to hold all that in for as long as she had.

     He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but gradually, her tears slowed and quieted.  She wasn’t shaking anymore and her breaths evened out.  She sniffed loudly and pushed her hair away from her face, shifting a little in his arms.

     “I feel like I could sleep for a year.”

     “Hop in bed, then,” Hancock replied, “Maybe not for a year, but I’d say ya’ deserve forty or fifty winks.”

     “Where’s Shaun?”

     “Possibly still eating.  Not sure I believe that synths don’t grow or age with what that kid has managed to put away in just two days.”

     “You think maybe he won’t be a ten-year-old forever?”

     Hancock shrugged. “We all saw my brother’s replacement,” he said, “Gray hair and the beer belly.  Synths might have a chip in their heads, but they’re still flesh and blood, right?”

     Nora sighed. “I can’t take care of an immortal ten-year-old.  Even if I wasn’t chasing down raiders and ferals every other day.”

     “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Hancock replied, kissing the top of her head. “Come on.  You need to sleep some.”

     After burrowing herself under the covers, Nora fell asleep almost instantly.  Hancock waited a minute to make sure she stayed asleep.  As he stood to leave, the door creaked open and Shaun looked in.

     “Is Mom okay?”

     “She’s sleeping.”

     “Oh.”  He lingered in the doorway for a moment, shifting from one foot to the next.  Hancock waved him forward.

     “Come on, kid,” he said, sliding off the bed. “There’s room for you.”

     Shaun grinned, breaking into a yawn as he toed off his sneakers and dove under the blanket next to Nora.  She shifted in her sleep and Shaun pressed against her, folding his skinny frame under her arms, head beneath her chin.  In seconds, he was fast asleep.

     Hancock picked up the book and photograph from the floor and settled himself in the nearby armchair after flicking off the lights.  As the music outside began to die down, Dogmeat slipped in and hopped into the bed at Nora and Shaun’s feet.  Hancock turned on the lantern nearby and sat back, watching the little group.

     Is this what having a family looked like?


	71. Surprises

     MacCready woke suddenly, almost starting out of bed before he realized where he was.  He sighed and leaned back into the pillow, staring up at the granite ceiling overhead.  The air was cold on his exposed skin, but the other body pressed against his under the blanket was warm and soft.

     “What time is it?” Haylen asked, breath warm against his chest.  Her voice was thick with sleep but he could see a small, content small on her face when he glanced down.

     “Early, I think,” he replied, noting the pale gray light filtering in through the window. “I don’t hear anyone outside just yet.”

     She hummed in response, pushing closer to him and sighing contentedly.  It had been a long time since he had woken up with anyone besides a small child latched onto him; he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the comfort of it.

     …and other things.

     “RJ, you’re incorrigible,” Haylen said, slinging one leg over his waist. “We should get ready to leave.”

     He rolled towards her, pressing his lips to hers and threading his hands through her long blond hair.  She giggled into his kiss and pulled him closer.

     “How often are we going to get a chance like this once we get back to Sanctuary?”

     “Are we going to keep this up?”

     He pulled back and looked at her, frowning a bit. “Why wouldn’t we?”

     “Well, it’s not that I don’t want to,” Haylen replied, averting her eyes as a faint pink tinge crept into her cheeks. “It’s just…you, know, you have Duncan and I don’t want to intrude or make you think I expect anything…”

     MacCready kissed her again. “Sarah, I like when you intrude,” he mumbled against her lips. “I like this.  You don’t have to go unless you really want to.”

     She smiled and looped a leg around his hips. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

     She pulled him closer and shifted into just the right spot, eliciting a low groan of pleasure.

     “Damn, woman, you’re going to kill me.”

     She giggled again, hands drifting down his back.  He felt the blanket start to slip off when there was a hurried knock at the door and it creaked open.

     “Hey, Mac, can you help me with this scope – oh, shit --”

     He snatched the blanket up and scowled as the door banged closed again. “Usually people wait for a minute after knocking, Nora!”

     “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” she called, “I didn’t realize you guys – um – I didn’t think --”

     “I guess we’ll pick this up in a couple days?” Haylen whispered in his ear, grinning.  He kissed her and stood, hitching up his pants.

     “Can’t wait.”

     He finished dressing as quick as he could and hurried out.  Nora was waiting in the hall, peering down the end of a rifle scope and avoiding his eyes. 

     “What did you need?”

     “Um…I think the glass is loose,” she said, “It might just be me.”

     She handed it to him and looked at the ceiling while he examined it.  The glass on one end was off-kilter the tiniest bit, distorting the sight lines.

     “How long have you guys, uh…”

     “Little while after you left Sanctuary,” MacCready replied, smirking at her. “I figured you knew.”

     “I had my mind on other things,” Nora said, “But I’m happy for you.”

     “Thanks.”

     She smiled and joined him on the walk over to the workbench. “You smell like mutfruit.”

 

     Nora and her companions left for Sanctuary after a few days at the Castle, heading out into the city ruins with a caravan bound for Bunker Hill.  Nick and Piper broke off for Diamond City after a while, then Deacon disappeared for, presumably, Railroad HQ.  Not long after, Curie went north to finish her settlement rounds, accompanied by Strong as a personal bodyguard.

     “Leader like puny human doctor,” he told Nora before they left, “Strong protect doctor and crush enemies.”

     “Alright, big guy,” Nora said, “Keep her safe.”

     “I think this will be quite the adventure, no?” Curie said, beaming up at Strong.  He grunted at her in response, swinging his bat over his shoulder.

     “Mom, you’ve got really weird friends,” Shaun told her as the group continued on, waving once at Curie. “But I like them.”

     “Well said, kid,” Hancock agreed.  Nora smiled and hugged Shaun to her, reveling in his warmth at her side.  Her initial response at being asked to take care of the young synth had been confusion and dislike, but then she woke up one morning with him in her arms and suddenly couldn’t imagine letting him go.  He wasn’t the son she’d given birth to, but he was still hers.  Her second chance.

 

     “Nora.  Nora.  _Wake up_.”

     Nora jolted out of sleep to find Danse crouched over her, brow furrowed in concern.  She glanced over to make sure Shaun was still asleep; he was wrapped inside his sleeping bag with Dogmeat beside him. 

     “What’s wrong?” she asked, pushing herself up.

     “We’ve got a problem,” Danse replied, “Come look.”

     He beckoned Nora over to where he’d been standing guard.  The group had taken shelter in an old Gunner camp atop one of the overpasses, about as safe as one could be outside of a settlement, but Danse had still insisted on taking watch for the first part of the night.  A good thing, too, Nora realized as he pointed to the ground at the mass of synths assembled below them.

     “Shit,” she breathed as her heart leapt into her throat, “How did…?”

     “I don’t believe they’ve discovered our position yet,” Danse whispered back, “They teleported in a few at a time about an hour ago and they’ve simply been…waiting.”

     Nora shook her head. “Because that’s not creepy at all,” she said, “We’re going to have to do something.”

     “We’re in a decent position to take them out by sniper,” Danse replied, “But if they can teleport at will, then we might just draw them up here.”  
     “And then we’d be seriously screwed,” Nora finished.  Danse nodded.

     “What’s going on?”

     “Synths,” Nora muttered as Preston climbed out of his sleeping bag and joined them at the ledge.

     “Damn.”  He glanced over the edge at the synths, standing illuminated by moonlight.  It was eerily quiet, the only sound their breathing and the gentle ghost of a breeze that filtered through the streets below.

     “We can draw them off.”

     Nora and Preston both frowned at Danse.

     “One or two of us can sneak down and go around,” he explained, “Find a safe position approximately a mile away and then draw them towards us.  The rest of the group can then exit safely and make for Sanctuary.”

     “There are way too many of them for anybody to take on,” Nora said, “Even in a good position.”

     “What about the artillery?” Preston asked, eyes lighting up suddenly. “I think we’re still just in range.”

     “The artillery?” Nora repeated, “Are you sure?”

     “What party am I missing?”

     Nora turned to find Hancock looking at her expectantly. “We have a problem down there.”

     “I thought we’d been doin’ pretty good, but --”

     “Oh, for the love of – John – _down there_ ,” Nora hissed, pointing towards the ground as Preston muffled a laugh into his scarf and Danse turned pink.

     “This is really not the time for off-color jokes,” he chided with a scowl, “You and everyone else here is in serious danger, especially Nora’s son --”

     “Yeah, yeah, keep your panties on, Tin Can,” Hancock replied, “I heard what we’re facing and – it kills me to say this, by the way – I agree with you.  We need a distraction.”

     “Get everyone up,” Nora said, “We need to be quick and quiet before they notice we’re up here.”

 

     _We’re locked on to your target, General.  Hold on to your butt._

     Nora ducked behind the counter of an old café and covered her head.  The ground shook, knocking her into Danse, and dust rained down from the ceiling as the last mortar whistled through the air and hit its target.  She, Danse, and MacCready – the three who had drawn the short straws out of their group – had managed to sneak down off the overpass and lure the synths away, trapping them on Tucker Memorial Bridge.  Nora threw down an artillery signal grenade and then the three took cover, waiting out the barrage of mortars.

     “Everyone alright?” Nora asked after the commotion had begun to quiet.

     “Every day with you is an adventure,” MacCready replied dryly, shaking drywall dust from his hair.

     “At least we’re alive,” Danse countered, “You really should consider getting cannons built at more Minutemen settlements, Nora.  It’d be an enormous tactical advantage.”

     “Working on it,” she said, “You know how many old cans I’d have to collect to get enough iron for brand-new ones?”

     Danse began to say something, but MacCready interrupted with a harsh “shush!” and a hand in the air.  They all fell silent.

     _What is it?_ Nora mouthed at MacCready.  He pointed to the ceiling and tilted his head.  Nora waited for a moment, breath held, and then heard it – someone shuffling around upstairs, faint, dragging footsteps on the old boards above their heads.

     _Feral?_

     MacCready shrugged.  Nora nodded and pulled her shotgun from its holster across her back, creeping out from behind the counter and around the edge of the stairs.  She ascended as quietly as possible, shotgun pointed down but loaded and ready to go.

     The roof of the upper floor had collapsed inward along the outside edge, leaving most of the room exposed to the elements and moonlight.  There was a ragged desk in one corner and a broken bookshelf beside it, but it was who she saw opposite them, in a little patch of shadows, that made Nora’s jaw drop.

     “Uh, guys,” she called downstairs, “I need your help here.”

     “What is it?” Danse demanded, pounding up behind MacCready.  Nora nodded in the woman’s direction and handed him her shotgun.

     “It’s alright,” she said, “I’m not going to harm you.”

     She knelt next to the shivering, pale woman and pushed her pipe pistol away, then shrugged off her coat and wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders.  She was wearing nothing but a tattered, dirty hospital gown bearing the Institute’s logo.

     “Please help me,” she croaked, voice dry and raspy. “I’m – I can’t walk --”

     She lurched forward, clutching her round belly and letting out a short scream of pain.  Nora reached out to steady her, heart racing.

     “How long ago did they start?”

     “This – this morning,” the woman ground out, squeezing her shoulder.

     “Shit.”

     “Nora – what --”

     “She’s pregnant,” Nora interrupted, glaring at Danse. “And probably in labor.  We need to get her out of here, now.”

     “The rest of the group will be miles ahead of us by now,” MacCready answered, “Where do you propose we go?”

     “Covenant,” Nora replied, “It’s about a half hour walk from here.  Danse, can you carry her?”

     He nodded and handed back her shotgun, easily lifting the woman into his arms.

     “Follow me,” Nora said, jerking her head towards the stairwell.  She took point into the darkness, Danse behind her and MacCready bringing up the rear, and hoped like hell the radio at Covenant was still working.


	72. Baby Anne

     “Are you _sure_ Mom’s okay?”

     Shaun looked up at Hancock, brow furrowed with worry.  Hancock smiled at him.

     “Of course,” he said, “They probably just got caught behind that storm and decided to wait it out.”

     He gestured behind them to the ominous green clouds of a radstorm.  Shaun glanced over his shoulder and frowned.

     “Does she have medicine in her bag?”

     “Of course she does,” Hancock said, “And ammo, and extra clothes, and rusty forks, probably a book, a toaster she’ll have Sturges turn into a working airplane…”

     Shaun smiled half-heartedly at his feet, then slipped his hand into Hancock’s. 

     “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

     “Hey, listen here, kid,” Hancock stopped and knelt so he was eye-level with the little boy.  Shaun stared back at him glumly.

     “Your mom’s damn-near invincible,” he said, “She’s smart and she’s good with a gun.  She’s resourceful.  And even if anything did happen to her, you’ve got the coolest ghoul in the Commonwealth to hang out with, right?”

     Shaun shrugged. “I guess.”

     “You make me feel so wanted, kid,” Hancock replied, shaking his head.

     “Would you take me to see Goodneighbor?”

     “Of course.  And I’ll even shank someone for you like I did for your mom.”

     “Why did you do that?”

     “Because she was the prettiest thing to ever grace the gates of my town and I wanted to impress her.”

     Shaun bit his lip and seemed to consider that for a moment. “Did it work?”

     “Not in the slightest, kid.”

 

     Nora fiddled with the knobs on the radio, tuning it back and forth in the hopes of getting some kind of signal.  Danse had tried for almost an hour and gotten nothing.  Her Pip-Boy radio wasn’t working either, all the radio waves jammed by the radstorm that had rolled in just as they stumbled through the gates into Covenant.

     The woman let out another wail of pain, almost doubled over, and Nora winced.

     “We’re just going to have to do this ourselves,” MacCready told her.

     “I could get to Bunker Hill in just a few hours on my own.”

     “Nora, you aren’t going out alone, at night, in a radstorm,” Danse said, rolling his eyes.

     “Then you can do it!”

     “The Brotherhood didn’t exactly train me to birth babies.”

     “I’m a lawyer,” Nora exclaimed, eyes wide and face pale. “My son was born in the era of hospitals and emergency c-sections.  I don’t know jack shit about this sort of thing!”

     “For the love of – Nora, go get the fire built up some more,” MacCready interjected, “Danse, go find as many blankets as you can.”

     “What are you going to do?” Nora asked, blanching further.

     “ _We_ are going to deliver her baby,” MacCready said, shucking off his duster.

     “Do you know what…um…what happens?”  


     “Lucy delivered Duncan a month early,” he explained as he rolled up his sleeves, “We didn’t have another doctor around, so I had to do it.  Now go fix the fire like I said.”

     Nora nodded weakly and hurried to the fireplace, tossing another log onto the dying fire and stirring the embers.  After she and Piper had discovered Covenant’s dirty little secret and been forced to massacre the residents, she hadn’t had the heart to do anything with the town but bury everyone.  She’d assumed that Raiders or scavengers would loot the place down to the studs, but it had remained mostly untouched.

     She finished stoking the fire and stood, wiping her hands on her jeans.  The radstorm was still in full force outside, ominous green clouds and fog obscuring the view through the windows.  Her Pip-Boy had been clicking wildly for a while; she sighed and turned it off.

     “This was everything I could immediately get to,” Danse announced as he banged through the door carrying an enormous pile of linens. 

     “Okay, good,” MacCready said, scrunching his face as if trying to remember something. “I think we’ll need some hot water and --”

     He was interrupted as the woman lurched forward with a scream, grabbing for Nora’s arm.  She latched on and squeezed, nails digging into her flesh.  Nora winced and swallowed down a sudden rush of panic.  She’d been just as anxious when Shaun was born and that had been with all the conveniences of twenty-third century medicine right at hand.

     “What’s your name?” she asked the woman as her grip began to relax, looking for something to distract them both.

     The woman glanced up at her through a curtain of sweat-matted hair and then looked away.  She took a shaky breath and squeezed Nora’s arm again as another contraction ripped through her.

     “You’re…you’re Father’s mother, aren’t you?” she asked Nora, breathless and pale. “The woman from the Vault.”

     “Yes,” Nora said, “How did you know?”

     “I saw you once in the infirmary,” the woman panted, “You were talking to Dr. Holdren.”

     Nora tried to think for a moment.  She hadn’t needed to go to the infirmary but once, on her first trip inside the Institute, when they’d offered to do a full medical exam and she still somewhat trusted them.  It had been at night and there was no one else there – just a dark-haired synth she’d felt watching her the whole time.

     “You’re…?”

     The woman nodded and grimaced. “I don’t…I don’t have a name.”

     Nora tried to think of something to say but the woman stiffened again, her face going red as a desperate scream of pain ripped out of her.  Nora swallowed back bile and let the woman squeeze her arm.  Sweat made her face glisten and her eyes were feverishly bright.

     “Deep breaths,” Nora said, hoping she didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.  She tried to remember all the calming things Nate had said during her labor with Shaun, but she hadn’t gotten very far along before she’d started bleeding and been rushed into surgery.

     “How did you get to that old diner?” she asked.  Maybe questions would help the woman focus on something besides the pain she was in.

     “We were all teleported out,” she answered, huffing and wiping her face. “Anyone in the main complex.  Doctors first.  Then civilians, and then synths.  Anyone outside the complex had to use the old tunnels.”

     “Where did you teleport to?”

     “Outside…south of here,” the woman replied, her voice strained. “I was alone.  I didn’t know which way to go so I just kept walking…”

     Nora wiped sweaty strands of hair away from her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, “If I had known…”

     “No,” the woman replied firmly, “For better or worse, I’m free now.”

     Nora nodded and closed her eyes as she tensed and whimpered into her shoulder.  MacCready gave her a look from by the fireplace, where he’d been washing his hands in a bucket of hot water.  Danse stood across the room, conveniently out of the way, folding and refolding the blankets and sheets he’d brought in. 

     “They’re coming too fast,” the woman said to Nora, “She – she’s almost ready --”

     “Back-to-back?”

     The woman nodded.  MacCready came over, running his hands through his hair.  He looked a little less sure of himself now but didn’t say anything.  Danse hadn’t moved from his spot in the corner; Nora sent him a dirty look as the woman cried and huffed again.

     “Are you ready?” MacCready asked her.  Nora tried not to laugh hysterically. 

 

     It seemed to take longer than it should have for the baby to arrive, though, as Nora had already admitting, she really knew nothing about the process.  When the bloody, sticky infant finally slid out of the woman’s body, she breathed a massive sigh of relief that they had managed it without killing either of them.  The newborn squalled pitifully as MacCready wrapped it and handed it over to the young synth, who looked up at Nora with a look of both utter amazement and bewilderment.

     “Guys, can you…?” Nora asked, clearing her throat. “Just for a few minutes?”

     MacCready nodded and beckoned to Danse.

     “Are you alright from here?”

     Nora nodded, her throat too tight to speak properly, and the men left the room, closing the door firmly behind them. 

     “What was your designation?”

     “M4-94,” the woman said, looking dubiously down at the fussing baby she held. “I didn’t expect to ever see her…I don’t know what to do.”

     “Do you want to nurse her?” Nora asked.  After a minute of hesitation, M4 nodded.  Nora tried to smile and helped her arrange the baby, doing her best not to let old memories overtake her.

     With the infant situated and sucking contentedly, Nora stood and brushed her hair away from her face, letting the young woman lie back on the bed.

     “You’ll have to pick a name,” she said after a minute, “Unfortunately, not everyone on the surface takes kindly to synths.”

     “Elizabeth,” she replied promptly, smiling at Nora. “I’ve always liked it.”  


     “It’s a good name.”

     “Dr. Henderson used to read a book with a character named Elizabeth,” she said, “Her sisters called her Lizzy.  I used to peek at it sometimes when she wasn’t looking.”

     “Was it called _Pride and Prejudice_?”

     “Yes, I think so,” Elizabeth answered, “It was a romance, I think.  I never got the chance to really read it.  Dr. Henderson wanted to name the baby Anne after another character in her books.”

     Nora thought briefly that she might have liked this woman, if not for Elizabeth. “I managed to find a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ a while ago,” she said, “It’s in my house at Sanctuary.  You and Anne can come back with us and you can read it.”

     “You – you’d let me do that?” Elizabeth asked, looking up at Nora with wide, surprised eyes. “You don’t care that…?”

     “That you’re a synth?” Nora finished, “Of course not.  I know several other synths, in fact.  Danse is a synth.”

     “Really?”

     Nora nodded and smiled. “You should get some rest,” she said, “As soon as this storm lets up we’ll head out.”

     Elizabeth yawned in agreement, allowing Nora to help her clean up and change into a borrowed shirt and pants.  Once she had settled back in bed, Nora took the infant from her, swaddled in a sheet torn down to the right size, and promised to wake her as soon as Anne was awake again.

     Nora stood at the window, baby Anne cradled against her chest, as Elizabeth fell asleep and MacCready and Danse crept back in.  After a few moments of silence, Danse sidled up to her.

     “I wanted to ask a question.”

     “Shoot.”

     “It’s…um…about the woman.”

     “Okay,” Nora replied, eyeing him. “Spit it out.”

     “What did she mean when she said she didn’t have a name?”

     Nora glanced down at the infant in her arms and then back at Danse. “She’s a synth,” she said finally, “A surrogate, one of the various uses for synths inside the Institute.”

     “A surrogate?” Danse echoed, looking doubtful.

     “Yes,” Nora answered, “Artificial implantation of a fetus into the womb.  For the humans who were unable to have children or did dangerous work incompatible with pregnancy or fertility.”

     There was a shocked silence. 

     “What else were synths used for?”

     “Gen-3s like her and you did lots of different things,” Nora said, “Manual labor, surrogacy…”

     She thought briefly of Eve and suppressed a shudder, but didn’t say anything.

     “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to find anything about you,” she said after a few minutes, “I’m going to ask the Railroad to look at their records…”

     “You don’t have to do that,” Danse said quickly, “It’s not…not a big deal.”

     “You don’t want to know?”

     “No, I do…”

     Nora glanced over at him and smiled. “Let me know when you’re ready, then, and I’ll look into it.”


	73. Better Than Expected

     Danse and MacCready secured the little town just as the sun began to break through the remaining radioactive cloud cover, reactivating one of the turrets and barring the front gate.  Once they all felt reasonably secure, they bedded down for a few hours in the old house, Elizabeth still fast asleep in bed, the guys on sleeping bags, and Nora propped up in an armchair with Anne on her chest.  She set an alarm on her Pip-Boy to wake them in a few hours and let herself sink into the dusty fabric and doze off.

     The feeling was odd, simultaneously familiar and strange.  Shaun had been a colicky infant, up and down constantly during his first three months of life, and she’d spent many a night rocking him to the sounds of classical music, cooing and offering pacifiers or nursing him until he finally fell back asleep, waking on the couch sometime in the early morning when Nate would take him and Codsworth insisted on cooking her breakfast.  She hadn’t ever expected to feel that sleepy relief of curling up into warm cushions with a sleeping baby on her chest again, even before she had committed to a relationship with Hancock.

     She drifted in and out of sleep until Anne moved on her chest, shifting her head up and down, plump red lips smacking.  Nora glanced at her Pip-Boy and realized she had been asleep for close to five hours.  She stood and shifted the infant, letting her suck on her finger for a moment before she woke Elizabeth.

     “Elizabeth,” she said, gently shaking the girl’s shoulder. “Lizzie?”

     She didn’t move.  A sudden panic seized her, heart crashing against her ribcage.  She laid Anne down on the mattress, prompting an outraged wail, and shook Elizabeth again, harder this time.  She was pale, her face almost drained of color, lips blue-gray.  She didn’t move or respond to Nora’s shaking.

     “What’s going on?”

     “She’s not – she won’t wake up,” Nora exclaimed as Danse and MacCready rushed over, hands shaking.  Danse leaned over, ear to Elizabeth’s face, brow furrowed.

     “She isn’t breathing.”

     Nora grabbed Anne and yanked back the blanket, then froze.  The sheets beneath Elizabeth were scarlet with blood.

     “She bled out,” MacCready said, his voice oddly resigned.  Nora gulped and shook her head.

     “I gave her a Stimpak,” she insisted, “Before she fell asleep.  She was fine, why didn’t she say something --”

     “She was already asleep,” Danse said, “It was probably slow.  She wouldn’t have felt much.”

     Nora looked at him, aghast.  His eyes were clouded and his features creased and tired – he had seen things like this before.

     “But…”

     “It happens, Nora,” MacCready said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You couldn’t help it.”

     She gulped and shook her head.  She should have stayed awake to keep an eye on her, should have given her a second Stimpak, should have done _something_ –

     “I’ll bury her,” Danse said as Anne let out another loud wail, “You need to find something for her to eat.”

     He nodded at the baby.  Nora’s stomach plunged to her knees.  She looked at the infant and then back at Danse, trying to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.  She was woefully unprepared for this and still a bit in shock.

     “’Leave her with me,” Danse said, taking Anne, who looked even tinier against his large, muscular frame. “MacCready, you know what to look for, right?  There might be a cache or a cellar or something here.”

     “Come on, Nora.”

     “What are we looking for?”

     “Cornmeal,” he said, “Powdered milk, canned milk, anything that’s not plain water or Nuka Cola.”

    

     Hancock couldn’t stop pacing.  It had been almost a full day since the radstorm blew off, but Nora, MacCready, and Danse still weren’t back yet.  He had tried hard not to let his anxiety show, knowing Shaun would pick up on it, but as the hours dragged on and no one showed up at the gates, it became harder and harder not to.

     “I just sent Amelia out to back-track and look for them,” Preston said, interrupting his thoughts as he appeared in the doorway. “She’s going to go as far as Bunker Hill and spread the word along the way.”

     Hancock nodded and glanced down the hallway where Codsworth and Shaun were busily cleaning out the other room.  He and Nora had been using it as a catch-all for the junk she collected, food stuffs, and all manner of other bits and pieces, the extra bed buried under a crate of hubcaps and several molerat hides.  He felt guilty at first that they hadn’t had it fixed for Shaun, but neither of them had expected to come back with anyone extra in tow.  Though judging by the excited chatter and commotion, Shaun didn’t care all that much.

     “They might have stopped for the night,” Preston continued, “Or had to take the long way around…”

     Hancock nodded again.  He wasn’t up for speculation; he just wanted to see Nora walk back across the bridge in one piece.

     Within an hour, it had begun to rain, a cold, lazy drizzle that soaked the main street of Sanctuary and left everything shrouded in a thick blanket of fog.  Clouds moved in and blotted out the sunshine as the temperature began to plunge.  Hancock stayed inside in his own shroud of cigarette smoke, popping the occasional Mentat when Shaun wasn’t looking, forcing himself not to devolve into darkness.  She’d come back.  She always came back.

     “Hey, look!”

     Shaun pressed his nose to the front glass window, pointing at something on the other side of the settlement.  From there, anyone could see straight between the other houses and across the river. 

     “Someone’s there!” Shaun yelped excitedly, “Do you think it’s Mom?”

     A small group of three dark figures were approaching the bridge.

     “I’m going to go get Duncan!” Shaun continued before Hancock could say anything else, dashing out the front door and into the rain.

     Hancock followed, heart pounding before dropping in relief when they approached.  It was Nora and her companions.  Duncan and Shaun went running up to them, MacCready catching his boy and hugging him close even as the rain continued to soak them through.  Shaun caught Nora around the waist, burying his face in her coat and hugging her as if she’d been gone ages.  Dogmeat came stomping through the bushes, jumping and barking excitedly at the sight of his mistress.

     Hancock smiled when he joined them, catching her eye. “Nice of you to finally come home, love.”

     “We – we got sidetracked,” Nora stammered, glancing at her feet apologetically. “There was this woman and…”

     Her coat, buttoned to her chin, suddenly squirmed and let out a muffled cry.  Hancock stared quizzically at her as she unbuttoned it a few inches, revealing the bare pink head of a fussing infant, cuddled to Nora’s chest in a cloth cradle of some sort.

     “Her name’s Anne.”

     Hancock looked down at the infant as confusion dissolved into shock.  Shaun let out an excited gasp and the baby squirmed as a drop of rain landed on her forehead.

     “John?”

     “Getting pretty good at scavenging, aren’t you, Sunshine?”

 

     “She bled out,” Nora told Hancock, hours later when they were dry and snug in the living room, Anne asleep on her lap and an empty bottle on the coffee table. “She was dead when we woke up.”

     Hancock put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.  She leaned into him and sighed, stroking the infant girl’s fuzzy head.

     “Is Anne going to stay with us?” Shaun asked, leaning over the coffee table to look at her. “She can sleep in my room since Dogmeat sleeps with you guys.”

     “An infant requires a lot of special care, Shaun,” Nora began, shaking her head. “I think it’d be safer for her if we found someone in Diamond City or…”

     “But, Mom!”

     “Shaun.”

     “You really going to trek all the way down there with a newborn and then be able to give her up?”

     Nora looked over at Hancock, lines of exhaustion and suspicion etched into her face.

     “I’m just sayin’,” Hancock continued, “Maybe…it wouldn’t be so bad if we just took her in ourselves.”

     Nora raised an eyebrow at him. “John.”

     “Look, you’ve already domesticated me this far,” Hancock replied, gesturing at Shaun and the house around them. “Might as well go the full monty.”

     “I did _not_ ‘domesticate’ you.”

     “We all know that if you hadn’t developed a ghoul fetish, I’d be stoned out of my gourd in some Goodneighbor back alley right now,” Hancock replied, “This isn’t really what I planned but it’s a damn good alternative to what I expected.”

     “What’s a ‘fetish’?” Shaun chirped, looking between the ghoul and his mother.  Nora sighed and shifted Anne in her lap.

     “I don’t know, guys,” she said, “I’m not sure if…if I’m ready for this.”

     “Alright,” Hancock replied, “Then let’s eat and turn in for the night and you can think about it for a few days.”

     “I, for one, would love the chance to resume my infant-care duties,” Codsworth interjected loftily, floating in from the kitchen with a fresh bottle of Brahmin milk. “That’s what I was built for, eh, ma’am?”

     Nora gave him a weak smile. “You put Miss Nanny bots to shame, Codsworth.”

 

     It was especially cold when Nora woke the next morning.  She squeezed her eyes shut and wiggled closer to Hancock, pulling the blanket tight around them.  He hummed and ran a hand down her side, letting it rest on her hip and squeezing.

     “Am I still dreaming?”

     Nora smiled and leaned in to kiss him. “If you are, then so am I,” she whispered, nipping his bottom lip.  He gave a low growl and squeezed her hip tighter.

     “Don’t be starting what ya’ can’t finish there, love.”

     “Who said I wasn’t going to finish it?”

     He grinned at her and stole another kiss, letting his lips linger as his hand wandered down to grope the flesh of her thigh.  Nora let out a blissful sigh and tilted her chin back as he reached for her throat.

     “Mom!  Mom!  Hancock!  Come here, quick!  Holy crap!” 

     Nora jumped and scrambled out of bed, Hancock quick behind her, stumbling down the hallway and into the living room.  Shaun stood in the open doorway, jaw hanging open in wonder.

     “What is _that_?” he demanded of his mother, pointing outside.

     It was snowing.  Little flurries of snowflakes whipped through the air, landing on the sidewalk and in the grass, piling in the window frames.  Nora let out a sigh of relief.

     “Shaun, you almost gave me a heart attack,” she scolded, “I thought Raiders were at the front door.”

     “Sorry,” he replied absently, still staring. “Can I go and play in it?”

     “Um…”

     “ _Please_?” he begged, turning his round brown eyes on her like Nate used to do.  Puppy dog eyes, almost as good as Dogmeat’s.

     “You need to get dressed,” Nora answered, looking down at his worn pajamas. “I don’t think we even have the right clothes for you in this kind of weather.”

     “There’s all kinds of junk in storage,” Hancock said, “I’m sure we can rustle up something for him.”

     “Alright,” Nora conceded, “There’s not much to play in, though.”

     Shaun whooped as she glanced out at the flurry.  Most of the flakes were sticking, but it had only amounted to a pale, glistening dusting over the brown grass and the sidewalk.  Preston came up the main road, duster and scarf buttoned securely, and waved at her.

     “I told you two hundred years was enough time to start recovering,” he said, looking upwards into the snow. “It’s not half bad.”

     “People are going to be freaking out at the settlements,” she said, “We need to arrange deliveries of firewood and boot leather…”

     Preston nodded. “I’m ready to work when you are,” he said, “Or you can take a break for a bit.”

     “Do you need my help?”

     “We always need your help,” he replied, “There’s Raiders and Mutants to the east and, like you said, supplies to deliver. _But_ we’ll manage if you aren’t up to it yet.”

     Nora glanced back at Hancock, suppressing a shiver.  He grinned at her.

     “Head out and slaughter some uglies, help a few settlers, come back to Shaun and Anne,” he said, “Spend the night next to you.  Sounds good to me.”

     Nora shook her head. “You always did have a way with words, John.”

     “I do my best, Sunshine.”

    

     “So, where to next?”

     Nora looked up at Hancock, threading her hand through his as they trudged through the snowy underbrush away from Finch Farm.  Her gun was still warm and her coat was splattered with blood, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel exhausted and depressed.  Like when she and Preston had taken out the Forged, she felt _accomplished_.  She was doing something worthwhile again, this time with the prospect of going back to a warm house in Sanctuary and a pair of children she’d started to miss.

     “I say we stop in Goodneighbor,” she said, “See how everyone’s doing, spend a night in a warm, dark room with some Bobrov’s.”

     “I like your thinking, Sunshine,” Hancock replied, grinning and pulling her closer.

     She returned the grin. “After that, we go see what’s up in Diamond City,” she said, “A little more time to ourselves at Home Plate, get some supplies and such.  Hit the settlements on the way back north and then crash at Sanctuary.”

     “Perfect,” Hancock said, kissing the side of her head. “Absolutely perfect.”

     “You’ve got yourself a weird little family, Mr. Mayor,” Nora said, “A 241-year-old lover and her synth son, an adopted daughter from inside the Institute, even a family dog.”

     “Perfect.”

     Nora smiled and closed her eyes for a second, breathing in the crisp winter air.  It wasn’t what she’d planned, but it was better than what she had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that's it! I confess, it feels a little bit like I'm sending my child off to face the world, finishing this fic. It's the largest project I've ever tackled and the first novel-length anything I've completed. THANK YOU soooo much to everyone who commented and enjoyed this story. I started writing just to get the ideas out of my head and never expected such a great response. You guys have been so encouraging and honestly pulled me out of a huge writing slump I'd been in for ages.
> 
> Out of Time is done, but Nora isn't going away. I'm going to start work on a sequel very soon and am seriously considering further projects with this version of the Sole Survivor. Keep an eye out for "Unfinished Business" on the F04/F03 archives.
> 
> Again, thank you for reading!


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